


Spirit of Andraste

by sailtheplains



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Best friend Cole, Cole (Dragon Age) Talks A Lot, Cole brings up the awkward truth, Cole is Your Bff, Exploring humanity, F/M, FadeQuisitor, Gen, Helpful Cole (Dragon Age), Human Inquisitor - Freeform, Inquisitor of the Fade, Learning to be Human, Mortality, Sexuality, Slow Burn, Spirit Inquisitor, Tevinter Inquisitor, Undefined Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), spirit friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-07-12 03:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 68,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7084777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, so, what if a spirit had come through the Veil at the Conclave? You suddenly have a Cole-eqsue spirit being as your Herald and no one knows what the heck to do with her.</p><p>So I just started writing because I think it's a neat idea.</p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>And a couple screenshots because then I had to create a character to interact with as much like Liesel as possible (given constraints of conversation options)</p><p>http://sailtheplains.tumblr.com/post/145523282785/liesel-lady-roguequisitor-shes-a-little</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Get Her Some Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is song I think of when I want to prepare to write from the perspective of Cole, or in this case, Liesel: 
> 
> The Mystic's Dream: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFAfWH_CKVw
> 
> Cities Last Broadcast - Lights Out: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqU-15KonOk
> 
> Oh yeah, Liesel - pronounced : Lee-sl
> 
> And for folks that are into this sort of thing, I took screenshots of what she looked like in my head. because of course, I did : http://sailtheplains.tumblr.com/post/145523282785/liesel-lady-roguequisitor-shes-a-little
> 
> \-------------------------------

“Who is she?”

“We don’t know,” Leliana said, crossing her arms. “There’s no record of anyone like her being at the Conclave.”

“She has no lyrium in her blood,” Cassandra said, looking down at the girl. “But she feels….strange.”

“What did Solas say about her?”

“He believes she might be a spirit but he says she hasn’t possessed anyone. That the body is hers.”

“How is that possible?” Leliana asked.

“I don’t know. He has urged us not to execute her. At least until we see if her Mark can close the Rifts.”

The girl was smallish and appeared to be human. She had a mat of heavy dark brown hair. It was a tangled mess, hanging over her amber-green eyes. She had freckles and smatterings of pronounced veins near the surface of her skin. She was wearing simple clothes, linen trousers with a skirt wrapped over her hips, no shoes at all and a stained brown wool shirt that they doubted belonged to her, given how big it was. She carried nothing that identified her at all. Her only weapon a dagger at her hip. Her feet were covered in scratches and bruises. Her hands were wrapped in strips of cotton, like bandages—though they hadn’t seen any injury when they had initially removed them so that Solas could examine the Mark.

Leliana did a slight double-take and nodded behind Cassandra. The warrior turned and saw that the girl’s eyes were open. She watched them, silently.

Cassandra frowned. “Who are you?”

The girl looked faintly troubled at the question, looking down at her cuffed hands. 

“What is your name?” Cassandra demanded.

The girl frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Do you know what happened?” Leliana asked.

The girl looked at Leliana. “I was. Watching. There was. Were. Many things and people. I saw them. Then I was in the Fade. There were legs there. Chasing, crying out. A golden lady reached out to me. But she was already faded inside.”

Leliana raised her eyebrows.

Cassandra hauled the girl to her feet. She pointed at one of the guards. “Get her some shoes. I’ll take her to Solas.”

 

The girl followed Cassandra automatically, going wherever the Seeker led her. There were people with sad faces, angry faces, angry thoughts. The girl could feel them. The demons were bad. She could fight the demons. She helped the Seeker do that. Cassandra wasn’t evil. She could feel it. Cassandra was just angry and scared. 

Solas and Varric were different. Coming upon the dwarf and the elf—the dwarf felt quiet, like stone. Like the root of a mountain. But the elf was strange. He was almost Fade-touched but not quite. When he closed a rift by grabbing her hand and directing it upwards, he stared at her afterwards, curiously. 

She stared back. “Your name is Solas.”

The elf blinked at her. “….yes.”

“How did you know that?” Cassandra demanded.

“You told me his name.”

“But you’ve never seen him before!”

The girl looked thoughtful. “But you have. Your thoughts touched his.” She looked at the dwarf. “And his. Varric and Bianca.”

“You _are_ a spirit,” Solas breathed. “Amazing. What is your name? Your purpose?”

She looked at the ground under her filthy hair. “…..I don’t know.”

“Did she come from the Breach?” Cassandra asked.

“It is very possible. How long have you been here, spirit?”

She seemed to stare through the elf. “Some time. Or none. Everything happened so fast. Fast even for me.”

“The change was drastic but you weren’t corrupted?” Solas asked her.

“I don’t know,” she answered, looking at her hands. Her fingernails were dirty and split. 

“Regardless, we must take her to the forward camp. She is the only one who has any power over the rifts.” Cassandra sighed helplessly. “She’s like a child! Can she be made aware of where she is and what she’s doing?” 

Solas switched his staff to his other hand. “She knows where she is and what she’s doing. She is simply…handling it as a spirit would. She is a gentler spirit—nothing like Rage or Despair. Something else. Perhaps even something with no emotion attached to it—but simply an aspect, like a spirit of Command, Respect, or Solitude—something more intangible than an emotion.”

“Well, if she doesn’t know her name—we should really think of something to call her. Not just _hey, spirit_ ,” Varric said. “I mean—to be polite.”

Cassandra threw her hands up. “We don’t have time for—Maker, why didn't you Mark someone else? She is a spirit! A demon! She may have possessed this girl. We must find out who she is.”

“How about Liesel, Cricket? You like that?”

She smiled a little. “Oh. All right. Liesel-Cricket. Is that my name?”

“Just Liesel,” Varric told her, seeming to warm up to her immediately. “We’ll get you taken care of, Liesel. Now come with us.”

She followed Varric immediately, smiling a little down at him. “You are a dwarf.”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“And so is Bianca.”

“Bianca is my crossbow, Cricket. Remember?”

She looked at the crossbow. “But it’s for Bianca. She has rough fingers and mischievous eyes. Where did you find her?”

“Oh,” Varric cleared his throat, patting the crossbow. “Found her at the bottom of a heap of junk at the Emporium.”

She smiled again. “Is it a secret?”

“The one story I’ll never tell.”

“But it’s a good story. Maybe someday, you can tell it?” 

Varric looked away a little. “Could be, Cricket.”

“Was I a cricket before this?”

That made Varric laugh. “Well—not that I know of. Big on nicknames, kiddo.”

“What is a nickname?”

“It’s, uh….a friendly name you call someone else.”

“Because you don’t know their name?”

“No….I know their names. It’s just….it’s—a thing that I do. He’s Chuckles because he’s so serious,” Varric said, pointing at Solas. “And she’s Seeker. Because that’s what she is.”

“Oh, I see. So you either call people what they define themselves by or pointedly what they _don’t_ define themselves by.”

“I…..yeah,” Varric answered. 

“So what would you nickname yourself?”

“Um….” Varric said. “Uh. Well. Um. I’m. Not sure. Handsome, maybe? Shortstack is too obvious.”

“Annoying,” Cassandra suggested.

“Giant,” Solas tacked on.

“Mother?” Liesel asked.

That seemed to take Cassandra by surprise. She choked on a laugh.

“Mother? Why that?” Varric asked, bewildered.

“You—you write to get the voices out. They all speak so much in your head. And when you tell stories—they’re like your children. You read to them. Or you tell others about them. Like mothers do.”

“Not all mothers, Cricket.”

“I’ve seen reflections of mothers but I’ve never had one. Some are bad. Some are good.”

“Why not Father, then?” Varric asked.

“They aren’t different from mothers, really. But the associations with children is always stronger with mother because she bears them.”

Cassandra had her lips pressed tight together, trying not to laugh. 

“He would make a lovely mother,” Solas said dryly.

“Oh, look. There’s the Nightingale,” Varric said, fighting a laugh and shaking his head.

And indeed, there she was, a purple-plated pretending performer who, nonetheless, held Roderick back when he demanded that the _demon_ be killed. ( _Oh, that’s me. Isn’t it?_ ) Liesel felt Solas shift beside her, gently putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked at it curiously, feeling the warmth in his fingers.

How strange. She’d never felt a real mortal touch like that before. And yet….it wasn’t—not like Varric and Cassandra. It was different. A strange shimmering touch, sparking. 

_I turned them. It turned them. How could this happen? It wasn’t supposed to turn them into demons._

She looked at Solas curiously. “What wasn’t supposed to turn them?”

Solas stiffened a little. “I—the Breach seems like it shouldn’t be turning the spirits into demons. It’s just a doorway to us—but it is tearing them through into our world,” he explained.

She peered at him for a long moment.

And then Cassandra had them on the move again.

 

 

 

It was nearing night by the time she walked back into the Temple. The booming voice of Fire Eyes made her want to draw back. Other spirits had been long scared off by the Breach but she remained somehow, in this human body. “I don’t like him….”

“What’s that, Cricket?”

“His eyes are…made like fire. Always burning inside under the eyes. Under the skin. So much confusion and anger and trapped in the deep-dark where all the whispers and brushes against his face are close and too close. They’re too close. Everything is too close. Like wet hands and mud, pressing down and inward, reeking of a bog or corpses or the smell of flesh burning. Always. Always burning. The Red Ones went to him. Will—they—“

“Peace, Liesel,” Solas said gently. 

“But it’s so loud!” She said, almost frantically, to the elf. 

“I know. But once you close the Rift, it will quiet.”

“What’s so loud?” Varric asked.

“It’s—the tears are too loud. Too. Bright. Like the Red Ones. They’re too loud. I can’t hear anything.”

“We need to seal the Rift,” Cassandra reminded them sternly, frowning her frustration at the spirit girl. 

Solas put a hand on her shoulder. “Come, we must use the Mark, Liesel.”

“We’ll change the rift,” she said, nodding encouragingly to him. “To make it quiet.”

Solas smiled and nodded.

That was the last thing she remembered until she woke up almost four days later.

 

 

 

They weren’t just saying she was Herald of Andraste. People were saying she was the _spirit_ of Andraste. She might even _be_ Andraste. No one was sure what to make of this Marked spirit with a human body that didn’t appear to be possessing anyone. The Chantry was terrified of her and the years of traditional teachings she could upset. She was a spirit—and the Chantry taught that she would definitely be some kind of demon. Two people tried to break in and kill her, believing she’d somehow killed the Divine. Three others tried to break in because she was a demon. A constant guard had to be placed at her quarters. 

She’d never had quarters before. She wasn’t even sure what that meant. But it seemed to indicate the little house she’d woken up in. She wandered Haven, at first, and found herself at the Chantry.

“Were she not able to seal the Rift, I would have killed her myself,” Cassandra was saying.

“She is a _demon_. She should be killed.”

“We cannot do that yet until we know. Otherwise, we will lose our only way to close the rifts. We don’t know what the Maker is planning but…I cannot in good conscious kill the only one who has a Mark.”

“How do you know she is the only one!” Roderick demanded.

“We don’t,” Leliana snapped. “But we cannot leave that to chance. We cannot just release her—she has an unknown Mark with unknown power.”

“That she likely used to create that Breach!”

“That’s possible,” Leliana allowed. “But Solas does not believe that is the case.”

“So now we trust apostate mages that crawl out of the woods and demand to see the Mark!”

“He helped us and kept the Mark from killing her—“

“He’d had done better to let her die.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “My decision is made. You will not take her anywhere and she will _not_ be harmed.”

A guard shifted nervously and opened the door, inching away from the spirit. Roderick stormed off in a huff. 

“You are _not_ what I would have expected the Maker to send,” Cassandra said, crossing her arms severely. “If you harm anyone here, we will have you bound to something. We can’t kill you but there are other things we can do.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Liesel told the Seeker.

Cassandra crossed her arms tighter, scowling. 

“Do you need to eat? Do you feel cold?” Leliana asked.

“Sometimes. Yes. Wait. I don’t have to eat. Wait. I’m not sure. I’ll try it.”

“You….haven’t eaten yet?” Leliana asked.

“No,” said the spirit. “But I’ll try!”

Leliana looked at Cassandra.

The Seeker sighed bracingly. “We should introduce you to Cullen. He got back yesterday. Come back at nightfall, Liesel.” She gestured to the door guard. “Go and find Solas. Bring him here.”

 

 

 

When Liesel wandered away and Solas arrived, Cassandra was sitting in a chair, forehead resting on her palm as she leaned her elbow on the table. She looked up at the elf with a mixture of suspicion and frustration. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“About what?” Solas asked her, doing that thing where he lifted his eyebrows and looked down his nose at her. 

“You _know_ what. Most will not believe she is not a demon. The rest call her the Spirit of Andraste. Some think she _is_ Andraste. Is she even aware of what is at stake? Does she understand what her Mark means?”

Solas looked thoughtful. “I believe she does—but she is a spirit. They see the world differently from mortals. They see it as moments. Flashes of understanding, flickers of sound, smells, memories. It’s a very honest, pure way to view the world.”

“And what are _we_ supposed to do with her? We can’t send her to the Clerics. She won’t be able to speak to them. Does she even sleep?”

“All spirits are different. Some of them keep habits from any former lives. Some sink solely into reflected forms that they only understand by veneer. But she is different. I believe she might be some aspect of Change.”

“But she has not been corrupted?” Leliana said.

“From being in a physical form, no,” Solas agreed. “She can no longer Change herself, I believe. But I’m not sure she is aware of it. She doesn’t seem to remember what she was before this. It could be that whatever created the Breach also took memories of the event away—which may also have effected what she was when she came out of the Fade. However she did so.”

“I’m going to ask you to keep an eye on her, Solas. I don’t want her wandering too far or getting in anyone’s way. I want Cullen to examine her as well,” Cassandra said. “He’s a Templar—he might have some further insight for us.”

 

 

 

The big man entered the Chantry before Solas left, introducing himself to the apostate. “Is the letter you sent serious?” He asked Cassandra. “She’s an abomination?”

“She has not possessed anyone or anything,” Solas stressed. 

A runner went to find the spirit and bring her back. She looked up at Cullen. He looked down at her. 

“Well,” said the Templar, “….she _does_ seem to be her own entity. From what I can tell. Whatever happened to her…it doesn't seem to be possession.”

“She manifested it herself,” Solas said. “She had to form the strength of will to leave the Fade and create a human body.”

_Lyrium. Blue. Case is cold. Untouched for fifty-eight days. It burns. Hurts. Quiet the song. Light the metal to liquefy blue stone into water the color of the sky. Touched the lips, cool on hot summer. Teeth go cold. Feel the relief. No. No. No chains again. No chains ever again. Change._

“You remember,” Liesel said. “At the old Circle. The silver glinting spoon and the tiny flicker of flame licking the underside. The blue is like the sky. But it’s all dusty now. Chains to change.”

Cullen blinked, staring at her and then cleared his throat. “…….I see.”

“It’s better this way,” Liesel told him. “You’ll be better this way.”

Cullen exchanged a look with Cassandra. “So how do we treat her?” Cullen asked.

“It would be best to treat her as though she were human. There’s not much else we _can_ do. But we must be wary—it’s uncertain whether or not she could be bound like this.”

“I will talk to Josephine and collect her ideas on how to treat this matter. I am not sure I believe that she is the Spirit of Andraste. But I cannot know, of course. I would say providence, were she human or any other race—that the Maker sent her to us. But as a spirit, I cannot know.”

“We should keep her watched at all times. And shadowed, as well. Just in case,” Cullen advised. “And tell any mages here to keep their distance.”

Cassandra scowled. “Could this get any stranger.”

“Yes,” Liesel answered, after a beat of silence. “Soon, probably.”

She was right.


	2. Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The elf had seemed all fun and games until she actually seemed to _look_ at Liesel and then she took a step back. 
> 
> “What’s wrong with you?” the elf asked. “You’re—looking at you makes me dizzy. What’s the matter with you? Is this the glow?”  
> \--  
> \--  
> \--

Varric laughed at her face when she put the bean into her mouth.

“Bleh,” she said, spitting it out. “What was that one?”

“Antivan green bean. So, that’s a no?”

“It’s mushy. Bleh.”

The dwarf slid over a slice of cake. “Glazed lemon cake with strawberries. Nobody hates this one. This is really good.”

“All right,” she said bracingly and slowly focused on using her fork. It was more difficult than she thought it would be, making her fingers work it like she’d watched so many mortals do. She stabbed a little hunk of cake off and ate it. Her face brightened. 

“Good?”

“Yes. At least—I think it is. It’s strange. My mind has no opinion if it’s good. It’s just how my mouth likes it.” She took another bite.

“So why knives, kid?”

“I found them.”

“So you just picked them up? Are you trained in something else?”

“No.”

“Did you want to try something else?”

The spirit looked thoughtful. “I saw one I wanted to try. Like a spear, with a blade at the end.”

“Pole-arm? Or a glaive?” Varric asked.

“Maybe. But I think that’s the one I’m supposed to have.”

“Supposed to?”

“The knives talk to me—but not very much. I only know…sort of where they want to go. I need to try something else.”

So Varric grabbed Cassandra and she summoned a runner to chase down Solas and the three of them took the spirit to the armory under the Chantry. Varric explained what Liesel had said to him and Solas stepped forward. 

“I would say you couldn’t be a mage but by everything we know of the Fade, you shouldn’t even exist. So—do you have any magical gifts, that you know of?”

She reached out and took the elf’s staff, examining it. She smiled at it. “This is a friendly staff.” She offered it back to him.

“But not for you?”

She shook her head.

Cassandra went to the racks and pulled down a training staff. “Here. Try this instead.”

The girl took it in her palm and flipped it. It made a dramatic _whoosh_ sound, short and stiff. It stopped on a copper’s width. 

“I can see both ends,” She said.

“You like that?” Varric asked.

“Yes,” said the spirit. “I like this kind.”

Solas tilted his head—and then he jumped forward, his staff lashing out in a sweep. He barely registered her movement and her spear clapped loudly against his. Her eyes fixed on him under her tangle of hair.

“You see both ends of your spear?”

“Yes. And the others too.”

Solas pulled his staff back. “The strength and surety of a natural. Of one who’s been trained for years. Spirits are truly remarkable.”

“Can she see under her spider’s nest of hair?” Cassandra asked, wrinkling her nose.

Solas looked at the girl. “Liesel?”

The girl looked at him. Her hair was like a curtain in front of her face. But he could see the amber of her eyes peeking through. “Yes. Do you have to have yours uncovered to see?”

“We do. Regardless—if we plan to take you to Val Royeaux—we will have to get you cleaned up.” Solas glanced at Cassandra.

The warrior snorted at him. “Yeah right. I will talk to Josephine.”

Varric sniggered. “Sure you don’t wanna play dress-up, Seeker?”

“I’m certain,” she said acidly.

“I’ve never been to Val Royeaux outside the Fade,” she said. “It’s so pretty in the Fade. The golden lights and the call of the mourning bells on a crisp winter day in the aftermath of the fires. The screams were gone but there were still some who lingered, moaning softly in the charred shells of houses, in the sparkling sunrise.”

The three of them stared at her.

Varric said, “Well. Hopefully it won’t be on fire when we get there.”

“It could be.”

“Don’t say that, Seeker.” Varric shook his head to himself. “Seriously. Don’t jinx us.”

 

 

 

Cassandra watched Liesel closely when they went to Val Royeaux but the girl was quiet. She took her cues from Solas, it seemed. (And Varric, as well, who was having a lot of fun introducing her to different foods.)

But when the Lord Seeker approached, she became silent. She stared at him. Cassandra tried to get the man to talk to them but he stalked off with a dramatic flare.

“What is it?” Cassandra asked her. “You said nothing to defend yourself. What is wrong with you?”

“Seeker, I know you are frustrated but becoming angry with her won’t help,” Solas reminded her. “She is a spirit.”

Cassandra sighed, growling. “Fine. All right. But what is wrong? You stared at the Lord Seeker.”

“That….wasn’t the Lord Seeker.”

Cassandra stared at her. “What? He is acting strangely, yes—but how would you know that isn’t the Lord Seeker? I’ve seen him many times.”

“He was….wearing someone else.”

Solas peered at her. “Was it another spirit?”

“I think so. He was…blurry around the edges. And he felt wrong inside. Empty and dark.”

Cassandra looked startled. “Then where is he going with the rest of the Templars?”

“I don’t know. His mind is…hard to…something has changed so much. The whispers in his ears have….drowned everything else out.”

“We should return to Haven—we have to look into this immediately.”

Liesel still said nothing much in the city when Fiona found them. The leader of the mage rebellion didn’t feel right either. 

“Why is everyone not how they should be today?”

 

 

 

“If we cannot trust the Mage rebellion, we cannot simply go to Redcliffe. Liesel says that it was not Fiona--or at least, wasn't how she should be. And that the Lord Seeker was possibly being mimicked as well.”

“Was it demons?” Cullen asked.

“It could be magic,” Solas said. “Imitating forms isn’t so difficult. But they were perfect in every way. Cassandra said herself that she could tell no difference from the Lord Seeker.”

“Could it be the same people are pulling strings from behind both the Mages _and_ the Templars?” Leliana mused. 

“To have the power to pull on both would be….almost unthinkable,” Cullen said. “But…to imitate _both_ leaders of the Mages and the Templars….”

“It would be an incredible coincidence for them to have been mimicked at the same time by two different demons and to both be in Val Royeaux on the same day otherwise,” Cassandra said.

Cullen frowned. “I’ll see what I can find out about the Templars. Leliana?”

“I’ll have agents out by nightfall. _Someone_ will know where they’ve gone. I’ll also send a few to Redcliffe to see what we can find out.”

“If they’re being controlled by something larger….” Cassandra said quietly.

“Something even bigger could be behind it—perhaps whoever opened the Breach,” Josephine said.

Leliana looked at the others. “What about the Grey Wardens?”

They shifted on their feet. Josephine sighed, “The idea that the Wardens would be involved in something like whatever made the Breach is….appalling.”

“And the Templars aren’t?” Cullen asked. 

“Not even the rebel mages would have wanted the Breach,” said Leliana.

“You don’t know that,” Cassandra said.

“No one knows anything,” Liesel said quietly. “We can only look at the things we do know.”

The mortals all looked at her.

Leliana crossed her arms, studying the spirit. “You could feel that Fiona and the Lord Seeker were not who they were supposed to be. Did you have a feeling one way or the other which we might deal with?”

Liesel looked down at the war table, looking through it. “Fiona isn’t real. But something in the Lord Seeker was trying to get out.”

“Perhaps she felt his will, attempting to fight back?” Cassandra suggested.

“We’ll find out,” Cullen said.

 

 

 

While Leliana’s agents spread out to hunt, Liesel found herself back in Val Royeaux hunting for messages in the dusklight of the great city. It eventually would lead them to an elven girl named Sera. The elf had seemed all fun and games until she actually seemed to _look_ at Liesel and then she took a step back. 

“What’s wrong with you?” the elf asked. “You’re—looking at you makes me dizzy. What’s the matter with you? Is this the glow?”

“She is a spirit,” Solas said, peering at the other elf. 

The elven girl went pale. “A spirit—she’s a _demon_?”

“Could we stop talking about her like she’s not standing here? It’s weird,” Varric interrupted. “But everyone does it.”

“She’s a demon—I thought the Herald was supposed to be Andraste and holy and piss like that?”

“I did come from the Fade,” Liesel said, nodding helpfully.

Apparently, that was not helpful. Sera took a disgusted, fearful step back. “ _What?!_ ”

“She’s not going to bite you,” Varric said, chuckling.

“I’m the wrong shape for biting,” Liesel agreed.

An amused snort rippled through Solas. He kept his lips tight together and looked down at the marble.

“Chuckles!” Varric gaped. “I’m surprised at you!”

“I’ve no idea what you’re referring to,” Solas told him.

Sera stared at the three mortals. “This doesn’t bother you? This is _wrong_. She’s a _demon_.”

“What does this matter to you?” Cassandra asked. “If you sent the messages, then tell us what you want and we'll be gone.”

“I…” the girl hesitated. “I….wanted to join the Inquisition. Me and my Friends, the Red Jennies…”

“But because she is a spirit, you hesitate?” Solas asked her.

“Of course I friggin do!” Sera snapped.

“Then I suppose you don’t believe in the Inquisition’s cause as strongly as you claim,” Solas told her, with a challenging lift in his voice.

The elf scowled at him. “I want to see it but….” She looked at Liesel.

“She is safe,” Cassandra said. “I am a Seeker—I would know.”

Sera looked uncertainly at them and then back at Liesel. “So…I could help. I just…don’t want to deal with…..it,” she said, keeping a careful distance between herself and the spirit.

Cassandra started to speak, intending to refuse but Solas spoke up first, “Liesel, you can see her intent, can’t you?”

“Not everything,” Liesel answered. 

“What do you feel from her?”

Liesel looked at Sera.

_Afraid. Please. Don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me anymore. It always hurts. She’s a demon. A demon. Burning. Monsters from the Chantry tales. Darkness. Darkness, always darkness. The same dreams. The same dream. The Dream. Every full moon at least. The howling starts, loud. So loud. And dark and cold. The Void. Howling into the dark._

Liesel shook her head. “She’s not bad. Just scared. She needs us.” She looked up at Solas. 

“Wh-what?” Sera squawked. 

“She’s very afraid of something. Cold and darkness. Like the Deep Fade or the Void.” She looked at Sera. “I know you’re scared. But we can help you. You don’t have to be afraid because of me.”

“Wait—you _want_ her to join us?” Cassandra asked.

Liesel looked at the Seeker and then at Sera. “We can help her. She wants to change. This is where you can see beyond the Dreams.”

Solas did a slight double-take at Liesel and then looked slowly back at Sera but said nothing. _Interesting._

“I can’t just _ignore_ you being a friggin _demon_. But…” Sera looked down, appearing to be conflicted. “But you _can_ close the Rifts, right?”

“Yes, I can close the Rifts,” she answered. 

“So you’re….good then? Andraste wouldn’t….you’re the Spirit of Andraste, like they’re saying.”

“We don’t know for certain,” Varric said. “But that is what they’re saying. And that’s what they’re calling her.”

“What do _they_ call you?” Sera asked the spirit, gesturing to the mortals.

“Liesel,” said the spirit, smiling. “Varric thought of it for me.”

Sera cast one last nervous glance at Cassandra and then nodded bracingly. “All right then. I suppose I’ll come first and if you’re all right, then I’ll bring my Friends.”

Liesel smiled and nodded. “You’ll like it.”

Sera shuddered and backed away slowly from the courtyard.

 

 

 

“Do they know that I don’t want to hurt them?” Liesel asked Solas.

“No. They’ve been taught to fear spirits,” Solas said. 

“I’m hesitant to let her go to Redcliffe—they’re mages. She’s a spirit. It would be nothing for them to simply bind her to them. Given that we’re almost certain this is a trap,” Cullen said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Templars, then,” Cassandra said. “The agents are back—they’re in Therinfal Redoubt.”

Josephine nodded. “All right then. I will gather what nobles we can and they will go with you to the Keep.” She made a note. “And, Liesel. You got away last time. So follow me so I can cut your hair.”

“It keeps my head warm.”

“You’ll still have hair, we just need to make you presentable.”

Liesel looked at her cracked fingernails and the mud on her clothes. She’d lost her shoes somewhere. Well, just one of them. And her hair caught on everything. “Everything peels off?”

Josephine smiled gently. “Dealing with nobles can be a delicate matter. Cassandra will be sure to go with you to the Redoubt.” She looked hopefully at the warrior. “…..right?”

“Of course,” Cassandra grunted. “Otherwise she’ll never remember why she went there.”

Solas and Varric watched Cassandra and Josephine lead the spirit out of the room.

 

 

 

“Liesel,” Cassandra huffed. “Your tunic is full of mud. Why did you never change your clothes?”

“I…thought they were part of me. But they’re not.” Liesel tilted her head as Josephine grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it off. “I went into the water like you did. But it didn’t come off very well.”

Cassandra could not help but be a little fascinated as the spirit looked down at her brown skin, her breasts, her belly button with avid curiosity. Josephine looked a little overwhelmed, clearly not having expected the Spirit to be so unaware.

“How much do you….actually know about mortal bodies?” Josephine asked delicately.

Liesel looked at her scabbed knees. “I haven’t had one very long. I thought the clothing was part of everyone. But its not. It comes off. I saw it.”

“Just now?” Cassandra said.

“No. I saw Leliana take her hood down. Pretty red hair. And Cullen took his mantle off. He is like a lion with it on. Without it, he’s a man again.”

Both the women paused. 

“Perhaps…you should not be looking and watching when they do those things,” Cassandra said awkwardly.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Liesel told her. The spirit’s big eyes peered up at the Seeker. “Cullen has so many scars and he’s trying so hard. And Leliana is sad inside. A sparkling mind, but duller in the dark.”

“How did you know that Cullen was no longer taking Lyrium?” Cassandra asked, avoiding Liesel’s big, creepy eyes. “Neither of us had discussed it with you yet. And we talked about it weeks ago, before the Conclave.”

“I heard it when I listened. I hear what people want to do and sometimes I can help them do it. Sometimes they’re like Cullen. They can do it—they just need someone else to help believe in them too. Sometimes they can’t…and so they have to accept it in order to try something else.” 

“When you go to the Templars,” Josephine said, gently picking up a comb to start untangling the spider’s nest on Liesel’s head, “you should follow Cassandra’s lead. Many of the nobility are faithful—but you frighten them.”

“They do run away a lot,” Liesel agreed.

 

 

 


	3. No Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So….this isn’t the Fade?” she asked.
> 
> “No, I don’t think so. Not really. We’re inside you. Or, I am. You have an inside to be in now. You didn’t before.”
> 
> “So I’m in my head. And you’re in my head. And Envy is in my head. Everyone is in my head.”
> 
> \------------------

Liesel looked up at the high towers of Therinfal. This place was sad. It was full of anger. Not as bad as some places in the Fade, but no one should stay here long. It was too close to--

_I hear you. Your glow makes you so bright. Even out of the Fade._

Liesel did a full turn, looking back at the small crowd walking with them. She stopped. Solas stopped next to her, following her gaze.

“Are you all right, Liesel?”

“I…” She looked over the people, eyes skimming. “I heard someone…”

Solas looked over the small crowd but whatever it was, apparently she didn’t hear it again. She turned back around to keep walking with Cassandra and Solas, while Varric and Sera walked behind them. Josephine had put Liesel’s hair in a plait down her back, woven in with some ribbon.

The girl was looking at all the people. Cassandra was hesitant to let anyone speak to the Herald—but it was almost impossible to avoid. _Everyone_ wanted to speak privately with the Spirit of Andraste. She was being looked at something akin to a prophet.

Lord Abernache was babbling at her and she just stared at him the whole time. Varric dearly wished he could see the man’s expression behind the stupid mask. He’d probably die laughing right here though, if he could. She just kept watching him talk and offered nothing. And when he finally stuttered out and looked at her expectantly, she said:

“Your name is missing a ‘d’. You should add it at the end. Your name would be Lord Emerald. Then your name will be green.”

And then she turned and walked ahead of him.

Lord Abernache stared after her and looked at Cassandra. "My name is Esmeral. Not Emeral."

The Seeker shrugged. “Maybe you should change it.”

Sera choked on a snicker, snorting through her nose.

Ser Barris walked up to the spirit, urging her to follow him to they could speak with the Lord Seeker.

Liesel tilted her head and abruptly, agreed. “Yes—where is the Lord Seeker. We should see him. Now.” The courtyard had gone chill with a strange cold heaviness. The colors washed out and it gave Liesel an uncomfortable feeling at the back of her neck. All the little hairs stood on end, every nerve alert and brisk.

Lord Abernache looked sidelong at her. He recovered quickly. “You heard the Herald, take us to the Lord Seeker.”

“My lady, the Lord Seeker would like you to perform the Rites so he might know what kind of person you are.”

“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head.

“My lady, I’ve heard you are a spirit but—“

“I can’t. We need to go to the Seeker.” Liesel frowned, looking like something was puzzling her.

Ser Barris sighed. “My Lady—“

Liesel shook her head again, looking to Cassandra. “We have to find the Lord Seeker. _Now._ ”

Cassandra came forward, stepping between Liesel and Ser Barris. “Where is the Lord Seeker?”

“My Lady Pentaghast—“

“You _heard_ the Herald,” she told him.

Solas gently touched her shoulder. “Is something wrong, Liesel?”

“Yes!” She said emphatically. “It’s wrong. He’s all wrong. It’s dark and empty and—full of…anger. I—we—“

She shuddered and Solas looked over her head at Cassandra. The warrior nodded and looked pointedly at Barris.

The knight led them away. Of course, as soon as the Knight-Captain stepped into the room, Liesel stiffened, backing away from the table. Cassandra and Solas seemed to take her cue that something wasn't right and drew their weapons immediately. Sera and Varric spread back behind them, pulling bows around.

“So this is the Herald of Change?”

“You are _wrong_ inside,” Liesel said. “All red and angry.”

“So you _are_ a spirit,” said the Knight-Captain. “Do you know about the red lyrium?”

“They didn’t _make_ you listen to it. You did it yourself!” She told him angrily. “Of your own will. You _betrayed_ them. And they were too weak to do the right thing.”

“We will create a new world. A new stage for the Elder One.”

“Who’s the Elder One?” Cassandra demanded.

“Red Eyes. He’s….the Fire Eyes,” Liesel said, narrowing her gaze.

“The one who killed the Divine!?” Cassandra exclaimed.

“They’re _his_ now.”

The Knight-Captain leapt, rolling over the table to stab at the Herald. She flickered away, around him, flitting into shadows to get away from his redness. His anger. The castle erupted in violence as Templars turned on each other. They raced through the keep to find the Lord Seeker, up a set of stairs and—

And there he was, standing with his back to them.

Liesel could see how _wrong_ he was. Wrapped up in a form that wasn’t his own. Consumed with darkness.

“Liesel? What do you feel from him?” Cassandra asked quietly.

“He isn’t real.” The spirit said, walking up to the Lord Seeker. “You aren’t—“

He whirled around, grabbing into her jacket and yanked her into him. Cassandra watched the Herald’s eyes go wide and then dim, legs collapsing under her. The Lord Seeker held her up, drawing a blade. Sera's bow creaked, Solas wound his staff back--

It was a flash of just a few terrible seconds—

 

 

The world was dark, smoking green. She looked around curiously.

“Is this the Fade?” She wondered. It felt like the Fade. Similar. Sort of. And a lot of green like the Fade. But the red lyrium was here too. She didn’t recall ever seeing it in the Fade. But there were bodies too, burning. The smell was heavy, smoking, sweet. Burning flesh. Like at the Conclave? The people _burned_ like that. But just for a flash and then their bodies turned to ash inside, flying apart like _leaves_ into the wind. Choking inside of her lungs, breathing in the ash of the dead.

And then there…at the end of the room.

“Cullen?” she asked.

The commander stood there silently, watching her. Josephine stood at his side.

“Can you tell the difference anymore, Spirit of Andraste?” Leliana mused aloud as she stepped out of the shadows. “Does it bother you? Becoming more human to be their puppet? Or do you relish the thought? You have your own body now,” Leliana continued, slinking up behind Cullen and placing a dagger against his throat.

Liesel started forward.

“Oh, is he your friend, Herald? Or are you like other spirits who have possessed bodies long before you. You are so _curious_ about him. You watched him when he didn’t know. That’s not polite, Liesel.”

Liesel looked away. “I—I was curious.”

“Are you sure? How do you _know_ that you came to that body of your own free will? Do you understand that you must have copied _someone_?” Leliana sliced through the clasps holding Cullen’s cloak and mantle.

Liesel blinked, furrowing her eyebrows.

“How much before I know you?” Leliana asked, slicing through the commander’s shirt with a _tearing_ sound that skin made that fabric shouldn't have. “You thought the fabric was part of them. Because you’d copied yours. What a surprise it must have been.” Leliana pushed the Commander’s shirt open, pulling it off his shoulders. He did not move, or maybe wasn't aware. “What a surprise it _was_ when you saw him take it off. How human _have_ you become? Enough that you felt _shame_?”

Liesel recoiled. “This is all a lie. This isn’t real. You’re the demon. “

Leliana slid possessive fingers over Cullen’s shoulder, nails scraping down his chest and then lightly brought the dagger up again and slit his throat. “This is all a lie. You’re the demon,” Leliana echoed, fading into the shadows.

“I’ve never taken the place of another spirit before. I wonder how different it will be,” Josephine said quietly. “I could accomplish so much, using you.” The Not-Ambassador sauntered up to her, touching her jawline. “You now know the weakness of mortals better than even me, perhaps. I will have you. Possess you. I will get to _be_ you. What will your friends think?”

“My friends?” Liesel asked, faintly confused.

Josephine peered at her. “You don’t _know_ , do you? You don't know who your friends are yet.”

“What about him?”

Liesel whirled around, finding Solas standing behind her.

“He’s an elf,” said Solas, gesturing to himself. “Strange that he has the look of the Ancient ones. He’s almost as powerful as you. But he’s kind, isn’t he? Perfect to lay the trap?”

“What trap?” Liesel asked.

“You’re curious—shall I use that when I’m you? Mortals don’t understand us. We are alike, you and I. They’ll never notice. Besides, wouldn’t you like to go back to the Fade? To go home?”

“No…” Liesel said, looking away from Solas.

“Is it the kindness of his tone—“

“—or the quirk of a smile, Cricket?” Varric finished, sauntering around behind her.

“You’re just a demon,” Liesel said, shaking her head at him.

“I am Envy.” Cullen’s voice came from behind her, the lightest touch on her neck. His fingers curled into her hair and jerked back on her. “Tell me what you think.”

He vanished, reappearing at the war table, leaning over it with his shirt torn open and looking at her strangely. His eyes were hooded, heated, haunted gazing at her from under the fringe of his hair. He grabbed into her, pulling her across the table, pressing her against his skin. “Tell me what you _feel_.”

She jerked, recoiling from him—the touch was clammy and clingy and strange—and then another version of herself—or maybe….maybe not. Maybe the _real_ Liesel? Angry at her body being stolen—but then blood, blood was pouring out of her. The real Liesel had no face.

_She had no face._

She had no face because she had _peeled_ it off. The knife was in her hand. Her fingernails were jammed up with tissue and blood. Cutting the flesh and peeling off the girl’s face because she was a demon too, after all. 

_Tell me what you see_. 

She dropped the knife, backing away. The rag of skin on her face—she grabbed at her thin cheeks—but they were real. They weren’t dripping in blood. They…

She was alone.

Liesel had seen the terrors that powerful spirits could unleash—but she had avoided them in the Fade. She’d never had one so focused on her before—because there was no point. Spirits might reflect each other but they were far, far more likely to reflect the living. It was harder now, to separate the images from what was Real. Something about a physical form made it…harder. And she wasn’t always sure what was real, even _in_ the Real. Because, well, she wasn’t supposed to be real.

But she was real.

….right?

She had to push forward. There was Cassandra, haunting her shackled form at Haven.

_You’re hurting, helpless, hasty. What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?_

Liesel stopped by a wall, looking up. That presence. She’d felt it before. It was different from Envy. She stepped into another set of rooms. These didn’t bother her so much. Their strangeness and disorganization were very common in the Fade. She only paused when one of the doors shut her in.

"Envy is hurting you. He can’t take your face. I want to help you.”

The boy was in mismatched clothes and a large floppy hat. He moved like she did.

He moved _exactly_ like she did.

She startled a little. “It was you. I felt you outside. When we came here. I heard you.”

“I’m Cole.”

She looked up at him. “You’re….like me. Aren’t you? You’re a spirit.”

“Yes. Sort of. But different. I’m here, hearing, helping. I hope.” He flickered out of sight, sitting instead on the bed in the odd room. “Envy is trying to take your face. I think you already know? But I heard it and I reached out, and then in…and then I was here.”

“So….this isn’t the Fade?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so. Not really. We’re inside you. Or, I am. You have an inside to be in now. You didn’t before.”

“So I’m in my head. And you’re in my head. And Envy is in my head. Everyone is in my head.”

“I’m not sure how I got in.”

She tilted her head and looked at the Mark. “I wonder if this is a tiny door to the Fade? So the Fade is in my head now. And I’m in my head. I could leave it? The same way you came in?”

Cole shook his head. “You’re like me now. It’s dangerous to leave your head. You would die, I think.”

“Then are you dead?”

“No,” Cole said. “Your Mark, I think, it’s humming creates a bridge of sound that some of us can hear. I wasn’t supposed to come in. It’s not usually like this.”

“Did you fall through the Mark?”

“It is like the one that opened the door to the sky,” Cole answered.

The two spirits peered at each other, seeming mutually curious.

“In the Fade, I saw many spirits. Envy--he has to keep these things stable…I don’t know if I’m strong enough to…affect them.”

“You are different now, like I am. I had to become stronger. You can too,” Cole told her. “We can make him stretch. I will help.”

“Thank you. I haven’t been able to return to the Fade…”

“Here is like. A dream. A dream we can still push and pull at.”

“All right, Cole.”

The two spirits left the room. Cole led her. “It works like the Fade—ideas are still loud. Very loud. So we can still change things. But small things. Envy has had a long time to root and grow.” He turned a flood of veilfire into water.

He vanished from her side. But Liesel could still feel him, warm and gentle and solid in her head, guiding her and helping her, as was his nature.

There was chaos in all directions. That wasn’t so strange to her and she knew she wasn’t alone. There were other images, terrible and bloody. But she ran passed them, searching for ways to go up.

“You are a spirit of Change,” Envy said, voice blasting like a bull horn. “And now you desire to be not an impostor but a real human? What could you do as a human? You are lost, pathetic, your Inquisition will abandon you.”

“All things change,” she said to it.

“Yes. Except you. You can’t change anything anymore. Shouldn't you be going mad soon?”

She blinked as the room around her dissolved. She came upon another copy of herself, tearing out her hair, sobbing. “ _I can’t fix anything! I can’t change anymore! I’m trapped! I’m trapped! I can’t get out! I can’t change anymore—_ “

Liesel hurried on, doing her best to block out the screaming.

Cole met her at a set of gates.

“Why can’t I move like normal? Like you?” she asked him.

He sat on the railing of the balcony. “It’s harder to affect it when you’re the one in the hearing. I’m here, but this isn’t my hearing. It’s yours.”

“The hearing makes it real. But only for me. Like a human.”

“Yes,” Cole answered. “When mortals sleep. They feel like that.”

Finally, Envy found her again, grabbed her again, tearing at her throat—and then Cole appeared above them and Liesel pulled a blade from the Fade and stabbed the spirit with her shape. It was strange though not completely disconcerting, as the shape hadn’t been hers for all that long anyway.

It was stranger when she blinked and staggered, realizing she was in the Real again.

Cassandra grabbed onto her, pulling her away from the door when Envy tore apart his human guise and flashed across the ceiling. “Liesel?”

The spirit leaned heavily on her. “It’s very…hard. To be a person sometimes.”

Varric chuckled. “No doubt on that one, Cricket.”

“Where’s Cole?”

Cassandra waited for Liesel’s feet to feel solid again. “Who’s Cole?”

“He was with me. Like me. He was like me. He should be able to get out now.”

“Where was he?” Solas asked.

“In me. In my head.”

“With Envy?”

“Not on purpose,” she said.

But none of them had seen Cole.

Liesel felt a strange, foreign feeling constrict in her chest. He’d been like her. Or. Was he? Was he just a dream? He’d seemed real. She’d thought he was real. But…maybe she wasn’t real? Or this wasn’t real?

“Are we back in the Real?” She asked as they fought through the hordes of crazed Templars.

“Yes—Liesel, you’ve been to the Fade. This shouldn’t feel like the Fade,” Solas told her.

“….it….it doesn’t. But…I’m not sure which is….which is real, now.”

“Well, obviously, this one,” Sera grumbled.

It was hard to want to think about it—but she needed to. She was going to start getting confused at which things were Real and which weren’t. What parts of the world were the Fade and what parts weren’t? It was starting to blur together.

Cole appeared again when they reached the demon and when it was dead, she looked around for him. But he was gone. So when Ser Barris asked her what to do with the gutted Templars, she looked at her shoes for a long moment, listening.

“….Templars are wrong. Well. Some of them are good. Like Cullen. But corruption is bad. And it makes everything bad. So. Come with us for now. Not as Templars but…as…us.”

 

 

 

As they traveled, they all asked her many questions about what she’d seen. She told them what she could—in the clearest way she could manage. Mostly things like: “He recreated everyone. He wanted Cullen to be without his clothes.”

“Ah, he likely presumed you would be human enough to understand physical temptations,” Solas told her.

Liesel tilted her head. “Temptations to what? He felt all wrong and strange. And clammy.”

That made Sera burst out laughing for some reason.

“I hope maybe Cole will come back some day. I haven’t been able to get to the Fade since the Conclave. I can’t look for him there.”

“Do you know what his nature was?”

She shook her head. “….he was kind. But different from Wisdom or Purpose. He was gentle—like Hope or Compassion or Mercy. I didn’t get to thank him before he left.”

“He was….like you?” Solas asked.

“Yes. He made himself real. Like me. I saw him during the fighting but…he left before I could thank him. He’s been human longer than me.”

Varric and Cassandra were staring at her with wide eyes.

 

 

 

When they camped that night, Liesel sat by herself at the edge of the plains. She’d never felt kinship before. It was so strange—feeling Cole and knowing there was someone or something out there like her. A spirit who either chose a human body or made their own—he was like her. Not possessing anyone but not a spirit. Not just a spirit. Something strange and inbetween.

She hadn’t seen her own friends in the months since this had all started. They were in the Fade—and she couldn’t get there anymore. Maybe….if there were a few like Cole and herself in the world…she might meet others someday.

Still….she was surprised by how much she wished he had come with them. Solas understood her more than any mortal she’d ever met. The others weren’t always sure how to deal with her. She could understand that part but she couldn’t wrap her mind around how to fix it. She wasn’t real, for the most part. Except to Solas. Maybe this was what loneliness felt like?

She’d never had a thought like that before. She curled her arms over her knees, watching the fireflies.

 

 

 

When they arrived back at Haven and Cassandra and Solas came to help explain and interpret her explanation of what had happened, Cole appeared on the table. She threw her hands up. “Cole! You came back!”

“I was never here before. I followed you.”

“This is Cole. He’s like me--no, wait--!”

Cullen and Cassandra had drawn swords in a flash. Cullen came around the table, taking Liesel's arm and pulling her behind him.

“Wait,” Solas said, attempting to step forward to intervene. “He’s only—“

“This creature is not—“

“Wait, Cassandra,” Leliana advised, not looking afraid or surprised at all. “I want to know why he’s here.”

“Are you going to stay?” Liesel asked him eagerly, beaming at him around Cullen's arm.

Cole smiled gently. “I would like to. I want to help.”

“He’s my friend,” she told her advisers firmly. “We have to let him stay. He helped me. He’s like me.”

“She is telling the truth,” Solas said, “Cole is not possessing a body. Just like she isn’t.”

"I can be small. Tiny. Not in the way. I can kill people who try to hurt her." Cole told them. "I can feel the dark."

Liesel beamed, ducking around Cullen's arm to touch Cole's sleeves. "Me too! We can be more human!"

“Now there are two of them,” Cassandra sighed. “Maker preserve us.”

 

 

 

 


	4. Fracture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Leliana will know where all the pieces were supposed to be, right?” Cullen asked, gently picking up a little figure from under her foot. He laughed a little. “She reminds me of my younger brother—we’d find him curled up in strange places too.”  
> \------------

_Intense despair. Intense desire. Screaming echoes long and high. Over the valley. Under it. Bright fire and black smoke blotting out the sky. Can’t see in the chaos. Can’t feel her. Where is she? She’s gone. Gone._

“Why?” Liesel asked the tabletop in the war room. She stared at her section of map, over the Korcari Wilds. The others were all sitting in a large circle around the table, listening to Solas tell them about certain kinds of spirits and darkspawn. Joining them was a Grey Warden that Leliana had insisted Cassandra go find after learning what they had at Therinfal. His name was Blackwall. At her question, Solas paused.

Sera startled herself out of her doze when her head hit Blackwall’s shoulder.

“What is it, Liesel? The broodmother?” Solas asked her.

“No. All the burning. Why?”

Solas stared at her. It. And then realized she was listening. He stilled himself inside to quiet his thoughts. “It’s an old story, Liesel.”

Liesel shook her head. “You can see it when you sleep. When you're awake. And when you're inbetween.”

“Liesel,” Solas said quietly. “We can speak afterwards, if you like. It is an old hurt from when I was much younger.”

“No. It's.” She touched her forehead, like Cole sometimes did when the pain got too sharp. “It's vast across the Veil. And so much agony. Smoke and flame coloring the sunset purple and they become the blood of the earth. Terrible agony. But it continues. Everything coming to an end and you watch helplessly. Both in horror and triumph.”

Solas shifted, looking away from the others. He cleared his throat. He kept calm though. His thoughts were still quiet. Liesel couldn’t hear them anymore. 

“Well. Solas said before that he'd seen war,” Blackwall, who was sitting two chairs away from Liesel, said to break the wrenching silence. “Lots of things burn. You can't trust anything she says. It'll be too intense for her to describe thoughts clearly. She’s a demon.”

Liesel's mouth opened. And then her head tilted and she stared into Blackwall.

_Girl. Her body is like a rag doll. Her bones are like a bird’s. So small. Cracks. And her little muscles struggle in her throat and then collapse. Crushed. There will never be peace again._

“You could have made things right, Blackwall. You chose not to. You wish you'd done differently now. But if you continue the performance, people will watch.”

Blackwall bristled. “You twist everything you see and hear, demon?”

“Twisted up. Bags soaking in blood. Brown curls poking out of the top. Twisted and tied to the saddle.”

“Shut up,” Blackwall jumped up, a hand on his sword. “This _thing_ is evil! Marked by Andraste or not, she—“

“Is our only hope of sealing the Breach,” Cassandra said, standing up across from Blackwall and gripping the hilt of her own sword. “Be very careful what you say next, Warden.”

Blackwall’s hand didn’t move. “She could be some form of darkspawn herself. She’s unusual. And now she’s drawn the other one to her! It calls itself Cole? It’s a _demon_. We should kill them both,” he snarled.

“Take your seat or take your leave, Blackwall,” Cullen growled, standing at the head of the table, hand on his own swordhilt as well. 

“When you recruited me, Seeker Pentaghast—you did not tell me the Herald was a demon.”

“She was sent to us by the Maker. I believe that. That is what matters.”

“She could have taken you all in—“

“And since when are you an expert on matters arcane?” Solas asked coolly.

“I’m….” Blackwall huffed. “I’m a Warden. I don’t trust it. It takes the form of this sad-looking little girl and has you all eating out of her hand. She is a _demon_. Looks are deceptive. That _thing_ cannot be holy.”

Something flickered and appeared behind Blackwall. Cole said, quietly, “She didn’t get to choose her shape. But Varric helped her choose a name. That name is who she is. Is yours who you are?”

Blackwall kicked his chair away to give himself room to draw. 

Liesel jumped up. Sera, who was sitting between her and Blackwall, scrambled out of the way as Leliana grabbed Liesel by the collar, swinging the spirit around behind her. Cole vanished from Blackwall’s side, reappearing at Liesel’s and drawing his daggers. Leliana had her own daggers out, flipping Sera’s chair up onto the table with her boot and slamming into Blackwall. She placed her daggers at his throat.

Behind him, Cullen grabbed into Blackwall’s collar, letting the Warden feel the sword at his back.

“Careful, Warden,” Leliana said. “I thought you experienced and a good man. It would not be good for you to make me change my mind. Yes, our Herald of Andraste is a spirit. She hasn’t harmed anyone here. We have been watching her closely, Warden. Your expertise is darkspawn. Solas’ is spirits. Stick to what you know.”

“I want to help. I want to prove that the Wardens could never have killed the divine,” Blackwall said stiffly, watching Leliana’s hard eyes. “I don’t know why I’m the only one left—but I am. But that the Herald is a demon...”

“Be suspicious all you like,” Leliana told him, tone level and firm. “But we cannot let you harm her. If you draw your sword again with that intent, we will kill you. Do you understand, Warden Blackwall?”

Blackwall took a stiff breath through his nose and then nodded.

“Then take your leave. Return to your quarters,” Leliana commanded, eyeing the Warden until he sheathed his blade to do so. The Nightingale exchanged a look with one of her scouts. After Blackwall left, the scout followed to shadow him.

Leliana sheathed her blades and didn’t miss a beat. “Speaking of awkward meetings, we also have an invitation for the Herald to visit Madame de Fer.”

“The Enchanter to the Empress?” Cassandra said.

“Yes. We won’t be able to simply send you this time, Cassandra. She has enough sway in the Game that having her meet the Herald would be a good idea. She’ll need to know right off the staff what our Herald is. Vivienne is an imperial mage from the Circle. She’ll try to kill Liesel on sight, otherwise.”

“Any other offers of alliance?” Solas asked.

“I received a message from one Iron Bull,” Josephine said. “He is reknowned in Nevarra and Orlais as a mercenary captain of the Bull’s Chargers. It was hand-delivered by his Lieutenant. I would recommend accepting their invitation to see them work up close.”

Cassandra caught herself automatically turning to look at Liesel. As she had….found herself doing whenever they traveled together. Maybe she was starting to trust the spirit’s strange instincts. 

Liesel smiled brightly at Cassandra, making the Seeker grumble a little. “I like his name. The Iron Bull. I want to meet him.”

“Are we done for the day then? Great!” Varric got up to hurry out, escaping before anyone could remember that Solas had been giving them a lecture. 

Sera was suddenly alert and up, in a flash, she was out the door.

The others all pretended to forget and followed suit.

Liesel stayed in the room, getting up on the table with her bare feet and walking across the maps of Orlais and Fereldan. Solas watched her and then scanned the room—everyone was gone. Door was half-shut. He walked around the table to close it, shutting him inside the room with her.

“Liesel,” he said, carefully. 

The spirit looked at him, stopping with one foot on Lake Calenhad and another east of the Frostback Basin.

“What did you see in my head when you looked in?”

She brought her feet together on the Frostback Mountains, walking along the spine of the range. “Smoking death, a war, I think. Or…a large battle. Or…”

“When does it happen?”

She looked down at him from the table, studying his face for a moment. “….it did once. Why do you want it to again?”

_She knows._

“Maybe. Do I? I don’t really know. Cole sees things in you that are strange. That he understands better than me. Why do you keep it a secret? They could help you. Help so you wouldn’t have to.”

“I must, Liesel. But we cannot speak of it.”

Liesel wrinkled her nose. “You want to help. You don’t like to hurt people, Solas. So, why?”

“Liesel, your gift is different from Cole’s. You both see a great deal—in different ways. You are unique, the both of you. I don’t know if we will encounter any others like you, but I must be able to stay with the Inquisition until I can get the orb back.” Solas raised his hand, intending to take control of her limbs.

“You need time to change your mind?” Liesel asked.

Solas paused, hands still frozen in the air. He tilted his head, peering at her. So much was already in motion. Briala was tailed everywhere. He’d received word from Felassan two days previous. She was hoping to get herself to Celene’s side again. The power it might give her would be considerable. That woman was certainly something. She reminded him of another time, with another name. 

He startled, realizing he’d somehow gotten lost in thought. His gaze sharpened. That was…strange. Liesel was still looking down at him from the map, still balanced on the Frostbacks. Solas scanned over her face. She looked completely calm, interested in his answer but not pushing for it. 

“I cannot change my mind,” he said finally.

“Why?” She asked him softly.

Something in the reserved elf darkened his face. He looked away.

“You can always choose, Solas.”

“In this, I cannot.”

Liesel stared down at him. She could feel how badly he wanted to change his mind. He desperately wanted something to prove that he _should_. “You are. Blunted, blocked, boxed in inside your head. You can’t let the littles in—the whispers—that could tell you why you should come out. But it’s dark there and safer and comforting. It’s familiar there. Like a poison, it’s toxic but you can’t get away. You can’t help the craving for it. The desperate _need_ to see it again. You and the elves, as you were. As. You were so proud of who the elves are but now, you’re not.” Liesel tilted her head. “Why?”

Solas looked slightly uncertain. He was trying to block her out of his thoughts. It was proving different from blocking Cole. He wondered if the Anchor made it easier for her to read thoughts. “Liesel,” he said, more sharply. “I—much has changed. I destroyed everything.”

“And saved others.”

“Yes. The Dalish. Or those unable to use magic at all.”

“You only wanted to save certain people?”

He scowled. “No, I just...” He looked down at the war table, crossing his arms. 

Liesel tiptoed around Val Royeaux and knelt down on the table top. She touched his shoulder. “You don’t like to hurt people, Solas. Pride does. It hurts you. It’s always prickling at the tips of your ears, where they’re most sensitive. You can always feel it, weighing on you. The images and the voices are always in your ears. It’s always in the hearing for you. All the time. You see. A girl in a village and you swear. Just for a moment, you can smell hazelnut and cream and lemon. Her magic smelled like that. It fluttered into her hair.”

“Liesel,” Solas said and shook his head.

“But then, of course, they can’t be and the moment dies inside of you. You sorrow for those moments and it hurts you, each time.”

Solas closed his eyes, trying to focus on blocking her from his thoughts. The ease that she got by him was maddening. The Anchor certainly came with unexpected gifts. She would know how to walk the Fade like he did—but he hadn’t anticipated how it would sharpen her focus into a razor.

“You can choose to make it better or make it worse. You don’t want to be hurting anymore. So you want to hurt…others. Don’t—that’s—that’s what the Templars were doing, Solas. You can’t be like them. They are part of us now. And. And so are you.”

Solas stared at her. For the first time in a very, very long time, he wasn’t sure what to say. Not even Cole had gotten such an intense read on him so quickly. 

“If a part of us is sick inside…we’ll fester and burn and have to purge infection and then so many will die. Like stars on burning paper.”

Solas felt something strange swell up in his chest. He bristled with it, prowling inside of him like a caged beast. He stepped back from her, looking everywhere around him, agitated. And then he scowled and grabbed her by the side of her head. “Forget,” he commanded, fighting to override her will. 

But she yielded. She let him, looking into his eyes and seeing all his pain, suddenly bare and raw. How he flinched back, just a hair, just a tiny fracture. That was all she needed. She let go of his thoughts and Solas took them back. Her eyes rolled back in her head and he grabbed her, gently lowering her to the war table so she wouldn’t hit her head. He arranged her there in a tight little knot, covered her with a blanket and left her there.

After all, Liesel sleeping on the war table wasn’t really that out of place. They’d have runners out in the morning to find her shoes. If she was someplace as obvious as the war room, that was actually quite helpful. 

So when Cullen and Cassandra entered the next morning and found her curled up and barefoot on top of the Frostbacks, Cullen couldn’t seem to help but chuckle.

Cassandra grumbled. “Why can she not sleep in a bed?”

“How often does she actually sleep?”

“I don’t know. She’s been so excited for Cole to be here, it’s likely been many days. Not that it seems to really effect either of them.” Cassandra crossed her arms, frowning down at the spirit.

“Leliana will know where all the pieces were supposed to be, right?” Cullen asked, gently picking up a little figure from under her foot. He laughed a little. “She reminds me of my younger brother—we’d find him curled up in strange places too.”

“With her mentality, it’s difficult to treat her like the Herald should be. I want to just tell her to go sit down and let me handle things. But many nobles don’t want that. They want to speak directly to _her_.”

Cullen pushed the rest of the pieces up into Tevinter, north of her hair. “How does that go?”

Cassandra paused. “I…did not want to let her do it. But Leliana asked me to try. That if she was truly put here by the Maker, then we should trust Him. So I held back. And….she is…very strange sometimes, about decisions and says them sometimes in a way we cannot easily understand. But…she has remarkable insight into everyone we meet. And all of us. Sometimes more than what we are comfortable with.”

“But she knew the Knight-Captain at Therinfal was bad,” Cullen said. “And she knew that Fiona and the Lord Seeker were both being mimicked. We’ve gained more than we’ve lost by her.”

“I hope you are right, Cullen.” Cassandra took a deep breath and reached out to shake the girl’s shoulder. “Liesel. Liesel? Wake up.”

The spirit sat up and looked down at her arm. She shook it around.

“Did it fall asleep?” Cullen asked her.

“It…feels fuzzy. And sort of…muffled. Slow and groggy. Only it’s just my arm. Is that what happens when your limbs are asleep?”

“Yes. Sounds like your arm just fell asleep. It’s all right.”

“I hope the other three get enough sleep.” She swung her legs down. “Oh. The pieces—“

“We’ll get them, Liesel,” Cullen smiled at her.

Her eyes sharpened at the Commander.

_Like my younger sister. Or my younger sister’s close friends. But not a child in body, just in mind. But not a child in mind either. Strange innocence. Like the stories about the fey. We really ought to get her better fitted for clothes—shouldn’t hang on her like that. Need new armor. Leather. Leather to wrap the waist, hips—_

“Where are her shoes!” Cassandra said, throwing her hands up.

Liesel startled and turned around. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. I’ll find them. I’m sorry. I forget sometimes. I….” 

Cassandra blinked, stopping cold. “….it’s….I….Liesel, I just….”

The spirit looked distracted, like Cole did when he was listening too hard. She kept unraveling the strips of cloth around her fingers. “I’m sorry.” She hurried out

Cassandra blinked at the abrupt departure. She looked at Cullen. 

Cullen looked back. “What happened?”

“I’m…..not sure.”

 

 

 

Liesel wasn’t used to thoughts being so loud. Had she only just started to notice? When she realized she was out of the Fade after the explosion at the Conclave, thoughts felt so muted and fuzzy. But now…they were clamoring for her to hear them. It was getting difficult to block them out. She hadn’t meant to listen to Cullen so closely. She’d only wanted a touch, to check his mood. She did it every time she saw him, to see how he was coping without Lyrium. It was….almost too real. Before, it had always been brief images, flashes of sound or smells. But…it seemed like the longer she had the Mark, the more complete the thoughts would become. Not just a flash of a smell, but a whole feast. Not just a smile but thoughts behind it and intense feelings of peace and affection. Warm. Kindness. The scent of sandalwood. Or pepper. The sound of bells and the sound the stars made and the sound all the nightmares made. All flooding over Haven.

Liesel staggered out to the forest surrounding the village. Everyone’s thoughts were _so loud_. Like clanging bells in her ears. She was nauseated—a horrible, new experience—and felt uncomfortably hot, sticking with sweat but cold inside. She went out to the abandoned cottage that belonged to Adan’s mentor and sat inside of it. Her shoes were on the window sill. She put them on. 

_You make Cassandra upset with you. Try to remember. Try to know. Try to focus._

But first, make the intensity fall aside. The intense emotions were so overwhelming. She curled up, rocking back and forth. She’d never felt emotions so intensely in the Fade. 

_Cole?_ She reached out to find him, to touch his mind. 

He felt it and followed it to her. Cole ghosted in and sat beside her. “Emotions make us feel sick sometimes. We’re not used to them.”

“Feeling them, you mean? Like—sadness or pain…makes your stomach hurt.”

“Yes,” Cole nodded. “It’s…more intense on this side.”

“It’s very hard to know what’s Real, Cole.”

“I’m real,” he said. “I can help.” Cole stayed sitting on the floor with her, he just opened his arm and she leaned into it curiously. 

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“I said the same thing,” he told her. “It’s…hard to say it in words. You experience it and then it makes sense. But no matter what you read or even…watch. It’s not enough. It doesn’t…. _tell_ you what it means until you do it.”

“Like magic?”

“Sort of. I think. You can’t really know what it feels like until you use it.” Cole patted her shoulder in what he probably imagined was comforting and slowly, she relaxed. He felt it when her mind shifted, when she understood, like he had. A hug and what it meant. 

 

 

 

The giant looked down at the slip of a young woman. She looked up at him, appearing fascinated. He was used to the staring—but never with such open honesty before. 

“Are you The Iron Bull?” She asked, eyes lighting up cheerfully.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“You’re so big!” She told him, beaming. “You’re like a boulder or a big tree. Even nature has to stop and respect you.”

His eyebrows lifted. “That sounds pretty good, actually.” He chuckled. “I like how you think.”

“Thank you!” She told him, sounding surprised.

_Small but quick. She’s a slip of a human. I see her hand glowing a little. She has the Anchor—but she’s a demon? Fucking shit. If she attacks? She’ll leap away before I can grab her. The Seeker will be the tough one. Take the kid’s polearm and stab, break the bald one’s neck—the one with the bow, tricky. Dalish will take her out. But if I get to Bow first, break her arms, tear one off._

“Do you always think everything will hurt you?” She asked.

Only Iron Bull’s eye moved, sharpening with a barely-there flicker. “Yes.”

“Keeps you safe,” she said, more than asked, nodding at him. “Because of the Ben-Hassrath.”

“Yeah,” Bull agreed. He looked between her and the Seeker before gesturing out. “These are my guys. They already know about the spy thing. Like I said, higher ups just want information on the Inquisition so that they know whether to invade or not. They told me the rumor was that you were some sort of warped spirit or demon. So I have a Saarabas with me.” Bull turned around and waved over another Qunari.

Solas blinked behind them, unable to keep the startled look from his face. He’d heard about the plight of the Saarabas but never seen one. The effect was more dramatic, and more horrible, in person.

This Qunari was male. His horns had been cut off a few inches above the stem. His mouth was stitched shut. Only his eyes moved, flickering over all of them, back to Solas, to the Herald. 

“What do we call this Saarabas?” Solas asked.

“Call him Saarabas. That’s what he is. He can’t speak. He has magic. He’s a mage. But at least he doesn’t argue and bitch all the time like mages here.”

Saarabas did not seem interested in the proceedings. He looked silently at all of them, eyes absolutely calm, not a ripple in his emotions. 

“Usually, he’s supposed to be cuffed when he’s out and about. But we’re testing out some trust right now, aren’t we, Saarabas?”

Saarabas nodded, looking listlessly over to the ocean.

“We are,” Iron Bull told them. “So hopefully we won’t have to keep him chained up when we’re not using him.”

Liesel looked at Saarabas. But when she touched his mind—he was absolutely quiet and calm, rather like Solas—when he was trying to keep her out.

He peered back, with big red eyes, staring into her. She felt him prod at her, trying to touch her mind. It made the Mark want to flare, very badly. Her hand twitched. 

Cassandra furrowed her eyebrows. “Liesel?”

She looked up the Seeker. “Yes. We need them.”

Cassandra looked at the spirit, then at Iron Bull, and nodded. 

 

 

 

When Liesel was presented to First Enchanter Vivienne—wearing an armored waistcoat and her hair buttoned up in a knot—the Enchanter studied her. Cassandra and Solas lingered by the entrance to the hall where Vivienne had taken the spirit to talk with her privately. 

Vivienne was harder to hear. Her thoughts weren’t quieter, she was just so adept at hiding them that Liesel had to look a little deeper. Vivienne watched her like a hawk though, for any sudden movements. There was no doubt of intent in Vivienne. She extended the hand of friendship to gain alliance and power but if her life was threatened, she would kill Liesel in an instant. 

That didn’t really bother Liesel. A lot of people she met had thoughts like that. She didn’t really take it personally. Then again, she wasn’t really sure what it meant when someone ‘took something personally’. 

Vivienne was powerful and came with connections and alliances. All those confusing things that Josephine would need to know. What Liesel needed to know was much simpler.

_I cannot be possessed. I will not be possessed. I have talent. I have skill. I am powerful. I am not weak. The Templars watch me, to slit my throat, never again. The Harrowing. The demons. My parents have nothing to do with my skill. Raised myself from nothing. Rivaini seers, with beads and paint and tattooed lips. Let the spirits in. Like the augurs of the Frostbacks. Sassaran told her the story. Sassaran and her horns, more lovely than many at court with their silks and satins. Sassaran—closest to a real mother until her magic manifested. Can’t let her have her lips stitched shut._

The Enchanter and the spirit had stood for a long time in front of the window, in total silence. Vivienne could see that the spirit was analyzing her or something. The girl appeared to be deep in thought. She waited until the girl’s eyes cleared. They were a strange amber-green. Almost sickly, like the sky in the Fade. 

“You can come with us,” Liesel said softly. 

 

 

 

Cole often came to sit with her at night. It was cold here and he showed her how to make a fire and keep it lit on her own, rather than having to wait for someone. Cole had come to the Real before the Breach. He still had a hard time hearing all the hurts so close and loud but he was able to teach her and remind her to keep track of her shoes. And not to forget her cloak in random places. And also not to talk to the pewter figures for the war room map out loud. It made everyone else uncomfortable. Even if they did have stories when you reached back far enough.

Sera was terrified of both of them and avoided them like the plague. She hung around a lot with Blackwall, who watched Liesel and Cole with steely eyes whenever he saw them. 

Saarabas watched her too. But his eyes were always dead and quiet inside. Like the deep-dark but closer to the surface than almost anyone else she’d ever read.

Liesel liked to walk among the soldiers when they were practicing. Cullen had them drilling for hours each day. Some of them were afraid of her, some called her the Prophet, the Spirit, Andraste and so on. Only Cullen called her Liesel. 

Cullen couldn’t block her out, as he had no natural magic and he was no longer taking lyrium. She tried not to hear his thoughts all the time—but it was difficult. The mages were all figuring out how to quiet their thoughts around her. But the regular people had no real way of doing so. Their thoughts were still so loud. Cole heard things that hurt but she was hearing many things. More than she used to.

When the Mark flared and twinged, it got louder. 

“Liesel,” Cullen greeted as she walked through the swinging swords and clash of shields. 

“Hallo, Cullen.”

“We’re nearly ready to march on the Breach,” he told her. “The Templars have integrated nicely. They will be able to suppress the magic and you’ll be able to close the rift. With any luck.” 

“You’re going to make it so quiet,” she told Cullen, smiling proudly at him. 

“That’s good, right?” Cullen asked, chuckling a little.

“Yes. It’s loud. All the time.”

Cullen seemed to hesitate and then asked, “…is it…ah, uncomfortable for you?”

Liesel looked at her hands. “Sometimes, if it gets too sharp.”

“Can you really hear and see everything in our heads?”

“No—not everything. More now with the Mark. I didn’t used to hear so much. Cole hears hurts. I heard something else. But now it’s different again.”

Cullen peered at her, studying her.

 _Seems so small sometimes. So strange. But peaceful too._

And somewhere behind that, _They didn’t break my mind. She might be able to hear but she won’t break my mind. She’s kinder. Won’t break my mind._

And they started to bleed into other thoughts, as they often do. _Blood mages worming their way in, taking control, taking command, slaughter and blood and copper._

Haven vanished, his memory building itself around them. 

Cullen startled badly, jerking a step away and then drawing his sword. “Where are we? What—”

“I’m sorry,” Liesel said, swiftly. She swallowed hard, trying to get the memory under control. It felt too big, suddenly. Like a massive wave, grabbing her up and tossing her aside, dragging her under the surface with it.

A circular room with a prison of light and behind it, a younger Cullen.

“What is this? What's happening?” Cullen said, looking over at her. His voice was carefully calm. “Liesel. Please—make it stop.”

“I…I’m trying,” she told him, grasping for threads of the memory, trying to tame it back. But it was getting louder. She closed her eyes. The colors intensified as the images seemed to become solid around them. Haven had completely disappeared.

“Liesel….” Cullen said, watching the Hero of Ferelden--that silver-haired Dalish Grey Warden, and Alistair and Leliana and the witch, Morrigan enter the room. The younger Cullen cried out to them, eyes red and wide with madness.

Liesel kept trying to grab into it. To make it stop. _Stop. STOP. STOP!_

But the images swept her up, overwhelming and powerful. The strength, how vivid it was, the scent of blood and sulfur, fear. 

“I’m sorry,” Liesel said, helplessly. “I’m—I’m not trying to hurt you. I. I want it to stop.”

Cullen swallowed hard, watching his younger self rant and rave. Leliana intended to give him water. He hadn’t remembered that. But then, he didn’t remember much about that terrible time--he'd blocked it out, likely and Leliana had never spoken to him about the day they'd found him.

Liesel felt flooded with his memory and she frantically tried to hold it back. The Mark burned in her palm. It was getting so hot. Hot and loud and drinking up in the fear and pain and emotion and burning and so much _blood_ and the screaming. The children—they hadn’t reached all the children—some had still—

“Don’t,” Cullen said softly. “ _Liesel._ ”

Slit throats and red cancer growing in the halls of the Circle. And then—

Cole appeared beside her, as if he'd simply stepped out of the air. “You’re hurting him! You have to stop. You're not strong enough yet.”

“Cole! Please help me, Cole. Cole—I don’t want to hurt him! He’s nice! He’s—“

Cole nodded, touching her arm. “Your thoughts are getting mixed up with his. They’re getting confused and too tangled to grasp.”

The younger Cullen cried out softly. _Fingers in my mind_ …

The older Cullen was standing completely still, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths to keep himself grounded. 

Cole kept his hand on Liesel’s shoulder, he helped her to take command of the memory. And she dissolved it. Haven reappeared around them and she and Cullen both staggered. Cassandra was standing in front of them with Solas, who had stepped into the Commander to brace him. Cole was standing next to Liesel. 

Cullen sheathed his sword and backed up a few steps from Solas. 

“Cullen?” Cassandra asked. “Are you—“

“I need to step away for a moment,” Cullen cut her off, turning around and walking away.

“What did you do?” Cassandra demanded. "You two were just standing here--Cullen looked like he was having a fit."

“I…I didn’t mean to. I…everything has been more intense with the Mark. It got away from me. I couldn’t control it.”

“You captured Cullen in an illusion that only he could see--as if you were in the Fade and simply willed it. Interesting,” Solas noted. “It must have felt incredibly real.”

“You must get control of your abilities, Liesel,” Cassandra said sternly. “Else you will have to be confined to the Chantry keep.”

Liesel nodded, shaking a little. “It’s never…been so intense before. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry.” Her eyes were too wide, too much. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to—it was an accident. I hurt him. I didn’t mean—“

“Liesel,” Solas said, raising a hand to try to calm her. “It’s all right. He will understand. It’s—“

“But I _hurt_ him. What if I hurt someone else?”

“You will learn to control this new power in time. Until then, we must simply be prepared, Liesel.”

Liesel rung her hands together. “Will….will he be all right?”

Cassandra sighed. “I will check on him, Liesel. In the meantime, return to your quarters and calm down. Soon we’ll go seal the Breach and this mess will be done with.”

 

 


	5. Paradigm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was...unsettling, like a sort of gentle madness. Like watching the priests who oiled the bodies of the dead. They were often polite, kind, some darkly funny, but when they were alone, they detached from everyone and everything around them. Oil the bones. Oil the bones. Oil the bones.
> 
> \-------

A few days later, they returned to the destroyed Temple. Liesel hadn’t really spoken with anyone in the last few days. She was afraid of hearing them too loud. Afraid of trapping them, hurting them, tormenting them with their past thoughts and fears. She didn’t mean to. It was just…

Cullen did not seem angry with her, but he kept his exchanges with her very brief. 

She tried to focus on the Rift instead. Focus on that. 

Her head was swimming with magic and adrenaline. She fought her way to the center. The Breach was pulling at her Mark, pulling up on her, wanting to take her inside. It touched and grasped at her shoulders, pulling up on the Mark. But she couldn’t let it. She felt like she was suffocating with all the Templars suppressing everything around her. The Mark blasted up at the Rift—and it closed. 

Everyone was thrown off their feet.

Cassandra reached her first, helping her stand up and holding her when she was overcome with dizziness. She threw up, for the first time ever and did not much enjoy the experience. Cassandra held her hair away.

She could see people cheering but she couldn’t hear them. The Breach was closed but she was too dizzy to look at it properly. Solas came to them and touched her forehead. “Are you all right, Liesel?”

Cassandra kept an arm around her until she could stand up straight. “Yes…” she said softly. “It’s quiet now. Quieter…” She closed her eyes, just to listen to the quiet. The screaming had stopped. 

She could still hear the din of thoughts from people around her—but it was bearable. It was how things normally were. Not so loud.

“A mortal would likely feel sick and dizzy, but invigorated. I imagine, as a spirit, she’s exhausted,” Solas was saying quietly. “The Breach has likely been pulling at her—as well as Cole—since it opened. They are only partially mortal. The Breach wants to draw them in.”

“Like Sera,” Liesel said softly as Cassandra led her away.

“What do you mean?” Cassandra asked, glancing sidelong at Solas.

“Sera—she…she looks up into it sometimes. It’s different for her. She sees passed the Fade sometimes. Makes it clear.”

Solas filed that particular bit of knowledge away.

Cassandra could only shrug, sitting the spirit down on the back of a wagon and laying a blanket over her shoulders. Cassandra was not naturally very affectionate—but she could be protective. Even fierce and motherly sometimes to the recruits ( _Do_ it. Now.). Just like Cullen was the tough big brother for most of them (Do it, _now_ ). She checked over Liesel’s ears and head, looking for injury or any sign of burst blood vessels. Her nose was starting to bleed but that seemed to be it. She wiped Liesel’s face with her cloak. 

Solas tilted the spirit’s head back, peering into her amber-green eyes. He reached, looked, touching at her mind very gently. 

“She appears unharmed,” Solas said to Cassandra. “No corruption. No tearing at her spirit.”

“She’s more solid now,” Cole said, appearing at Cassandra’s side. “Like me. She’s stronger now.”

“I’d be surprised if she wasn’t,” Solas said. “Closing the Breach would take a massive amount of willpower, given how unstable the Mark is when it fluctuates. How do you feel, Liesel?”

She pushed her hair out of her face. “Fuzzy. Everything is fuzzy. I can see and hear things like normal again but…it’s…different. Less echoing. More solid?”

“More human, perhaps,” Solas said and looked like maybe he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. 

Then the wagon lurched, a soldier sitting up on the driver’s seat to direct the horses. Cole sat with Liesel and Sera bounded up to hop into the wagon so she wouldn’t have to walk. Liesel gave Cullen a careful look when they came up beside him and he took the opportunity to step onto the edge of the wagon box. “Are you all right?” he asked carefully.

Liesel fretted her fingers. “Yes. I’m sorry again—it shouldn’t happen like that again—“

“Liesel,” Cullen said, more firmly but kindly, “I know you didn’t do it on purpose. It was just a bit of a shock. I’m all right. I’m pretty tough, you know.”

Liesel watched him. Listened.

 _I really am._

She smiled a little. He thought it, knowing she would listen for it, and she could hear how honest he meant it. She'd never had a mortal do that before. “All right.”

It was like Cole. Cole walked through the world, hearing all the little hurts. He was the first bandage on a seeping wound. The slowest to heal, the fastest to falter. He heard so much of all the small pain that fed into the big pains. Some of them were too vast to shake loose. 

( _Solas._ )

Liesel looked up, meeting Cole's eyes. They were such a pure, startling blue. Just like the sky in the Real. Well. Before the Breach. It was strange to listen to each other. There was...just. Understanding. They didn't have to say anything, they both listened. Sometimes they heard things. Sometimes they didn't. But every time, they would know what the other meant. A smile, a shift of the eyes, a quiet nod and the feeling behind it. They felt flashes of sound. 

So they never really had conversations out loud. 

It had not occurred to her until that very moment. She stared at Cole, eyes widening a little.

She felt Cole shift curiously in her head. It connected slower to his eyes. His eyes looked curious. Slowly. 

She felt his question and she... _hesitated_. To step forward into self-awareness might...might be no turning back. But now that she'd seen it...she would never be able to simply ignore it.

"Cole," Liesel said. "...you talk to the others but when you talk to me--we don't talk like them."

"Yes," Cole agreed, nodding. "We can still do it differently than a person. Or we can talk to them. Because they don't always know what to say to us. Or. They're scared. Or. They don't want us to hear them--which only makes them brighter and easier to pull at by other shadows."

Liesel tilted her head up, blinking at him. "You....knew?"

"Yes," Cole said. "I did. You had to realize it on your own, like I did. You didn't feel safe yet. You weren't....enough of what. You are. You had to become stronger first to see through your own brightness. You are so bright, but like an eclipse." His voice got lost like it sometimes did, wandering angles of the air and chiming. "The Mark is heavy. It wants all of us. But you have to feel it the most. Because you...reflect what it is. You are stronger now. And now it's all right to say it."

She looked at Cole for a long moment and then she smiled, letting him feel her gratitude. She leaned against his shoulder and said, aloud, "Thank you."

 

 

People in Haven were happy then. She walked among them, stopping next to Minaeve, the kindly alchemist. The woman looked around for something and then nodded to Liesel. “You’re out here by yourself?”

Liesel nodded. “The others are inside. Or drinking, I think.”

“I have a hard time imagining Master Solas being drunk.”

_He has such dark eyes. I wonder what he’s really like. Will he leave after this? When he smiles, it gentles all that harshness in his face. He’s such a powerful mage too. And he learned on his own. I bet he knows so much. He’s not afraid of Templars or other mages or spirits._

Liesel smiled. “You should tell him.”

Minaeve stiffened a little, blinking at her. “Wh-what?”

“You should tell him. He likes studying.”

Minaeve’s eyes went wide and her face flushed a little. “I…I couldn’t. I. Um. I’m sorry. I forgot you can read…you….you shouldn’t read my thoughts.”

“I’m sorry. I just…heard it. I don’t really know how to block them out. You can though. You can block me.”

Minaeve cringed a little, as if afraid she’d hurt Liesel’s feelings. 

“Mortals don’t like it when I read them,” Liesel told her. “It’s the only place where they are totally alone. In their heads. But most people aren’t completely alone. There’s always someone or something that they talk to or think about. Like Varric. He calls us all nicknames so he can make us into his characters. So that it is painful when someone dies. Because he doesn't feel attached to other people sometimes.”

Minaeve stared at her for a moment and then derailed with, “Oh look, there’s Seeker Pentaghast.” She escaped when Liesel looked. 

Cassandra eyed the spirit and stood next to her for a moment. The tall Seeker was quiet, looking down at the weird Herald with her creepy, hazel eyes. It made her think of the incense in the Necropolis. The girl--well, she wasn't really a girl. She looked to be about twenty or so--the same as Cole. She was long-fingered and gaunt in a way similar to Cole but more slender and lean, rather than the surprisingly dense muscle in Cole's arms. The girl often greeted her with a smile, or would ask her endless questions about the world. She wanted to see everything. Cassandra kept up her annoyance on principal--still not certain what to do with that child-like aspect of her--yet knowing she was in an adult body and had probably seen some dark things. It was...unsettling, like a sort of gentle madness. Like watching the priests who oiled the bodies of the dead. They were often polite, kind, some darkly funny, but when they were alone, they detached from everyone and everything around them. Oil the bones. Oil the bones. Oil the bones.

Yet, Liesel seemed to be becoming more aware. A little bit each day. Tonight's events had been terrifying. And they still didn't know where Liesel had come from, in regards to being a spirit and whose body she'd copied or taken. Leisel was quiet but didn't seem overly distraught. She was a sticking closer to Cole than she normally might but that made sense. He was familiar in a way the rest of them couldn't be. And this whole mess had been pretty traumatizing. Did spirits dream?

Maybe they _should_ make her Inquisitor?

“Liesel. I…may have misjudged you. You showed great heroism, despite the pain the Breach likely caused you. I know you have been struggling. And I have been struggling to accept that the Herald of Andraste could be a demon. But if today does not prove it—then nothing will. Thank you.”

Liesel’s eyes lit up. Her whole face brightened into a smile. “You are so good, Cassandra. You are very good. Anthony would be proud of you.”

A strange look flickered across Cassandra’s face and in an instant it was gone. Cassandra took a deep breath. “…..thank you.”

And then a flaming arrow came whistling over the wall, punching through the roof of a storage building. 

 

 

Cassandra held an arm out in front of Liesel, as if to protect her from something. She drew her sword. “Come, let’s go to Cullen.”

Haven erupted into chaos as a handsome man came through their gates. He felt frantic, fearful but fiery. Faded feelings fanned by faith. Regret and sadness and pain. Dorian Pavus.

The battles and fighting raged into the night.

Cassandra, Cole and Solas tried to come with her but when the dragon came…

Several people screamed, pointing up in horror. Cole stared. “It looks like an Archdemon.”

Liesel looked at Cassandra and Solas. “Go.”

“What!” Cassandra demanded tersely.

Liesel looked at the sky. “Now. Hurry.”

“Liesel—“ Cassandra started.

“It’s coming.”

“What’s coming?” Solas demanded.

“The Elder One. He echoes and ripples, like water in reverse,” Cole said. “He will kill everyone.”

“I’m not leaving you here to face that thing,” Cassandra snapped. 

“You have to _go_ —he will kill you,” Liesel said again, pushing gently at Solas. “It doesn’t matter if I die. I’m just a spirit.”

“Liesel…” Solas started.

“If you stay, then I stay as well. It is my duty,” Cassandra said firmly.

Liesel looked at Cole and then nodded, hurrying back to the city gates. 

Inside the Chantry, the handsome mage was speaking to Cullen. “….he will kill everyone to get to the Herald.”

Liesel looked at the others. “You should all go. _Go._ Roderick knows a way.”

Cullen hesitated. “We…Herald—that thing could be an Archdemon. You…even as a spirit, this isn’t survivable.”

“Cole,” Liesel said softly, looking up at him.

He looked back, his giant hat casting flickering shadows over her in the candlelight. He studied her and then looked away. “I don’t want to. But…I. Understand.”

“Understand what?” Cassandra demanded.

“You will need Cole,” Liesel said simply. She turned around to head for the door. 

Cassandra cursed softly and followed the girl anyway. 

“Cassandra—“

“I will not leave you to do this alone, Herald.”

“I’m a spirit, Cassandra—“

“That doesn’t matter. You are as human as any of us.”

Liesel paused, looking up at her and then nodded a little. 

Solas joined them, offering out her glaive. The head was smaller than some others he’d seen, like a poleaxe but with a longer, slightly curved blade and an eight foot shaft to hold it. She struck like a snake with it. It was mesmerizing to watch—like Cole was with his knives.

She turned it, flipped with it, somersaults and backflips, sniping out with it, kicking it up with her foot and swinging it over her head. Planting it in the dirt, jumping around it, moving like air around enemies. It was fluid and graceful, like a dance. The natural convergence of a mage’s staff and the rogue’s speed. 

She blitzed through the mages, who felt like the Knight Captain. Wrong and red and dark inside. It was a mercy to kill them while Cassandra turned the trebuchet. And then something exploded. 

All at once, everything was blaring loud again. Her ears were ringing. The dizzy, sick feeling came back full-force. Liesel drug herself up, staggering.

The dragon slammed into the ground in front of her. It snapped its great teeth. Liesel looked at it, into it. Her. Not a demon—not an Archdemon. But a real dragon—but…something was wrong with her. Like a splinter in her head, a madness in her eyes. She was in so much pain. 

The dragon’s head jerked back a little, examining her and then roared.

Corypheus was something almost like herself. Not a human, not a darkspawn…but somewhere in between. When she looked at him, things got sticky in her head again. He was confused, angry. So full of rage and hate. Full to bursting now with redness. 

She didn’t speak when he did, declaring his intent to kill her. She was listening. She couldn’t help it. It waved out at her, reaching for her. She couldn’t help but listen.

_Saw the dead whispers. The old gods. The one who told us to come here after the Ritual. So many in the inbetween places were trapped. We could have gotten them out but betrayed. Betrayal. Rage. Betrayed. Betrayed. BETRAYED. Bury us all in the deep-dark. Bury us all in the night. One for each god. A lie. The Trickster, the Dragon, the Sun Lord, the Secret, the Madness, the Killer, the Blooded One, the Eye, and the Lost One._

“You truly are a demon,” he said. “The Mark is permanent but it won’t matter if I can still use you.” He reached out. His will slammed into her.

It was like a force of nature, a blast of wind, smashing like a rock into her mind. Putting up the cage, the bars, the dark walls. 

She cried out, panicked and scrambling back as he hooked into her being and drug her to him. She gripped into the dirt, scratching at the stone. _No. No. Nononono. I don’t want to be bound. I don’t want to!_

And then the Mark flared. She arrested, seizing up around the pain as the Mark burst with light, slamming her back against the trebuchet. Corypheus was thrown back as well. “I cannot bind you while you bear the Mark. So be it.”

Liesel pushed herself up. She didn’t even listen to what he was saying. She grabbed onto the trebuchet’s crank and pushed with everything she had. It snapped, scraping against the wood and throwing up its package into the night. Liesel staggered, still dizzy from his attempt to bind her, trying to move fast—but everything felt slow and thick. She ran and ran—and fell.

 

 

Sitting up was hard. She stared listlessly into the dark for several moments before she even realized she was awake. She blinked herself to alertness. It was strange how she….had to _become_ alert. She had always been accustomed to simply being aware of things around her, like Cole. But while certain things were louder, others were softer. 

She was alert now, anyway, so she sat against the wall. Her shoes were still on her feet. Cassandra would be happy about that. There was no one nearby. She could feel that. Wherever she had fallen, it had been deep enough that Corypheus couldn’t reach. She was bleeding, another thing she still wasn’t quite used to. Her face and hair and her whole left side were matted with it. And her head was ringing. Everything hurt. She crept along the icy walls of the cavern, emerging into a snow storm. 

She closed her eyes. _Cole?_

A faint touch came back. She couldn’t know if it was truly him or that Corypheus but she could feel his little light burning like a guiding lantern. She followed it.

Physical exhaustion was still a novelty and one she didn’t like—as well as all the other downsides of being mortal. The cold was strange too. Her lungs felt stiff inside, but wet too. Like she was drowning in the air. There was a spiking deep pain in her chest by the time she crested the hill. She saw a little burning light and knew instantly it was Cole. She staggered, slumping in the snow. 

_Cole…_ She reached out to him, touching his mind with the last scraps of strength.

 _She’s almost gone,_ Cole said to someone and then he disappeared. 

“There she is!”

Cole’s shoe appeared next to her arm and he knelt down to her, pushing snow off of her. Cassandra threw herself down next to her. “Is she alive?” 

Cullen flipped her over. “Somehow,” he said with a faint laugh. He scooped her up to carry her back to camp.

Cassandra took over there, taking the spirit from Cullen and going into a tent. Her clothes were full of ice, snow, mud and blood. Cassandra fought it all off, rubbing at the spirit’s feet and laying a bundle of furs and blankets over her. Then she called for Solas and the mage appeared in an instant, ducking inside to help. 

“Solas…” she murmured softly.

The mage looked down at her, touching her forehead. “Rest, Liesel.”

“Minaeve thinks you’re interesting.”

Solas blinked and then chuckled a little. “Oh. Well. Thank you for telling me.”

“She wants to study with you.”

Solas looked at her and then looked at Cassandra. The Seeker was fighting a small smile. 

“Cole….where’s Cole?”

“He’s outside at the fire,” Solas told her, gently. “He’s all right.”

Liesel seemed to relax at that, feverish eyes fading closed. 

Cassandra smirked a little. “Shall I get Minaeve?”

Solas huffed. “That doesn’t leave this tent.”

Cassandra chuckled a little. “Given her and Cole’s aptitude for stating awkward truths in front of everyone—I doubt that will stay in this tent for long.”

Solas shot her a disgruntled look. 

 

 

As bad as it all went—the event was successful in changing the general fear of her. She might have been a demon, or spirit or whatever, but the people did not shy away from her any longer. They were slinging words like: Exalted, Holy Spirit, Andraste’s Daughter, an elf called her Ghilan’nain’s Heir. 

It was all rather overwhelming but at least they weren’t thinking about killing her all the time. The singing was pretty too. She liked the singing.


	6. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing for spirits is more difficult than I thought it would be. I've always enjoyed writing for Cole--but writing for two of them who often talk to each other is tougher. I'd like to think it's good exercise for my brain.
> 
> \----  
> “Ah, I suppose hearing someone’s thoughts while you’re trying to dance would be like juggling plates while they’re on fire,” Dorian mused.
> 
> “I don’t mean to,” Liesel said, sighing softly. Her shoulders slumped. “I’m…I’m not a human,” she told them, something shaking in her voice.  
> \------

“I’m not going to let you throw me,” Sera grumbled, wrinkling her nose.

Liesel perked. “Can you throw _me_?” 

Iron Bull did a slight double-take. “Well….I….guess you would be small enough. You don’t have a bow, though, boss.”

Liesel’s whole form seemed to reach for the sky when she was excited. “But I have a glaive! I'll be like a human arrow! Liesel, the Silver Dart!”

Bull looked at her for a moment. “…oh hey. Yeah. _Yeah_.”

“We can do it to the Avaar that took our people,” she said, peering out over the bog. “It’s so dark here.”

“And scared. And _wet_ ,” Cole wrinkled his nose. “I can’t hear anything.”

“We should not disturb the water,” Solas advised, grimacing at the mud sucking at his toes. 

“But there are dead in there,” Liesel said.

“That’s. Kind of the point, kid,” Iron Bull told her.

“No—but—they can’t go if we don’t send them. They. I mean. They are dead. Their spirits are trapped. We have to help them move on.”

Dorian peered at her curiously. “Are you a necromancer? Or—rather—a spirit who used to deal with the dead?”

Liesel paused, looking down at the mud. “I don’t know. I’m not a mage.”

“I can feel them. I know if we close the rifts, the spirits will be able to leave the corpses and move on but I’m a necromancer,” Dorian said, stroking his mustache. He looked sidelong at Cole. “What do _you_ feel from them, Cole?” 

The other spirit looked puzzled at the question. He looked into the water. “They can’t think. It’s all too loud. They can only hurt. Kill. There’s nothing else. Everything is prickling at them, agitating. Even the ripples in the water scratch against them.”

“Fascinating,” Dorian said softly. “Two spirits, two very, very different feelings.”

“Is it that different?” Iron Bull asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, of course it is. Cole feels their agitation. He feels them scratching against the prisons that their bodies make. Even the water rippling disturbs them, hurts them. Cole feels them as they are right now. Killing them is a mercy.” He cupped his elbow with his opposite hand. “Liesel, on the other hand, feels that they are in an unnatural state. They are dead. They should be dead. That the spirits can’t move on on their own is distressing but killing them is the solution. They have to move on. That’s what they’re _supposed_ to do.”

“Does this make any fucking sense to anyone?” Sera asked, sounding annoyed.

Solas was watching Dorian with interest. “So, you theorize that Cole, as a spirit of Compassion, is compelled to kill them to make them happier. While Liesel feels compelled to kill them because that’s what they’re supposed to do. Die. Move on.”

“Yes…” Dorian said softly. 

“How is that different again?” Bull asked.

“It is coincidence that their natures both point to killing them. But in other cases, in other situations, who can say? Cole sees the potential, what can be, what _should_ be. Perhaps Liesel sees need first. What _needs_ to happen, regardless of the want. Perhaps she was a spirit of Purpose before the Breach?”

“We initially wondered if she were some aspect of Change,” Solas said.

“Very possible,” Dorian said, peering at the two spirits. “I wonder if we’ll know more when she develops a stronger personality.

“Is that one of the Avaar?” Sera said, nodding ahead on the path, where a huge man was standing before a dormant rift.

Liesel blinked and started forward, leaving the others to follow. She walked right up to him. “Hello.”

The massive man looked down at her. “Hallo. You must be the Herald.”

“You are so big!” She said to him. “You’re nearly as big as the Iron Bull! What did you do to get so big!”

“He’s not as big as me,” Iron Bull said grumpily.

“Lot of meat, lowlander.” He set his huge hammer down. “You’re a spirit, are you? One of them your augur?”

“Augur?” Solas asked.

“They let the spirits possess them. I’ve never seen one like you before—or you, for that matter,” he nodded at Cole. “But I’m no augur. You don’t let them possess you?” He asked to Dorian and Solas.

“No—of course not. That’s dangerous,” Dorian told him.

“Or you’re just full of corrupting influences, lowlander,” the huge Avaar said.

“Well, that’s possible,” Dorian agreed, smirking.

 

 

Cole kept looking into the green light of the rift.

Solas observed him a moment before saying, “Cole—do you wish to go back?”

The spirit pulled at his gloves, twisting his fingers. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think so. But sometimes, I don’t.” He looked up under the brim of his hat, watching Liesel measure herself against the Avaar’s huge warhammer. 

Solas followed his gaze and frowned. “You should not feel you have to become more human simply because she must. You are a spirit of compassion, Cole. You do not need to become attached to her.”

Cole tilted his head and then looked at Solas. “But what if I want to stay?”

Solas hesitated, forcing his thoughts to quiet to make sure Cole didn’t pick up on them. “You…certainly can. I simply urge you to be true to your nature.”

Cole peered at him for a long moment. “You don’t want me to, though. Why?”

“Becoming human is….painful. Being mortal at all is painful. The rewards can be great, yes. Mortals feel a great deal. But as a spirit, so much more is open to you.”

Cole stared at him. _Something. There is something else._

Then Liesel was opening the rift so they could close it properly. Cassandra took a deep breath as they moved on. “We should keep an eye out for more of these rifts—and the beacons for the dead,” she said to Iron Bull.

Liesel turned around, smiling. “I get it this time! He has to keep an eye out because he only has one eye!” She bounded back towards the road.

Cassandra’s mouth fell open.

Iron Bull raised his eyebrows.

The Seeker shook her head swiftly. “No! That….that is not what I…at _all_ …what I meant. I only…”

Bull burst out laughing. 

 

 

It was nice to see their people again. Liesel didn’t really remember individuals that she met in passing. Just feelings. She knew Cassandra and the others because she was with them every day—but the soldiers, she saw far less. They seemed happy to see her though. They really seemed to….to _believe_ in her. That was nice—they were fearful a little, but they didn’t think about killing her. 

When they camped that night, Dorian was so grumpy at the mosquitoes that he threw up a barrier until they could get the netting up. And then discovered that if he combined a static cage with an activation—it could pinpoint bugs who got too close. Sure, Bull got zapped once or twice when he stood at the cage’s edge for too long—but he seemed to be having fun.

Liesel was covered in bog mud but she didn’t seem to mind. Her hair had come out of the braid Cassandra had done for her though. She ignored it as she left the campsite.

“Liesel, where are you going?” Cassandra called to her. 

“Have to go disturb the water. I’ll do it far away.”

“For the spirits she has to free,” Dorian surmised.

“Ugh, this is so fucking weird,” Sera groused.

“She should not go alone. We don’t know what all the hell is out here,” Bull said.

Cole got up. “I’ll go. We don’t need sleep.”

Solas pressed his lips together thinly but he didn’t object.

 

 

Liesel spent much of the evening getting the dead to rise up so she could free them. Cole helped. He was a comforting, solid presence in her head. Something familiar from the Fade but also new and different, like herself. 

The two spirits wandered the far edge of the bog before Cole said, “You have to feel and see new things now, don’t you?”

“To become more real,” she answered and nodded.

“Solas asked me if I was interested in women since coming through the Veil.”

She looked at him as they walked. “Are you?”

“No,” he said quietly. “At least. I didn’t think I was. But I don’t really know. But I don’t know how to…make him understand. Or if I understand.”

“It seems very important to them.”

“Yes,” Cole said quietly. “Many of them _want_ but don’t know how. Sometimes their wanting is too much, too harsh, too dark. Other times it’s…full of fire but…not bad. Just too real. Too….intense.”

“Like how Josephine thinks about the Iron Bull,” Liesel said.

“Yes,” Cole said solemnly, nodding to himself.

They paused at a small cabin, Cole stopping to look at her. “When I was in your head, I saw Cullen and Leliana and Josephine and Solas and Varric. Envy wanted you to be hurt when he hurt Cullen. Why?”

She looked at the mud and the dilapidated walls of the cabin. “…..I am not sure. Solas said it was because Envy thought I would be more human. I thought our clothes were part of us. Did you?”

“Yes,” Cole agreed, nodding a little. “But then I saw that they weren’t.”

“Was it Cullen you saw?”

Cole smiled and nodded. “The cloak is fluffed up.”

“Like a bird. Or a big lion.”

“I think that is the purpose? It makes him look bigger?”

“He wouldn’t have to worry. The leather remembers what it was—we should tell him. Though I don’t think it would help his dreams.”

Cole frowned and shook his head. “They are very loud and very dark.”

“It calls all the time to me,” Liesel said. “I can hear it when the castle sleeps. The others dream often but Cullen’s are the worst.”

“He is quiet inside. He wants it to be quieter—but it can’t be until the lyrium lets him go.”

“Maybe he hears it too, like us. But he doesn’t know it. Like we didn’t know about clothes?”

Cole picked up a small fragment of a broken pot, pushing it into his pocket. “Will you have to become more real?”

Liesel touched a damp wardrobe, opening it to find the remains of some poor animal inside. She glanced over at Cole. “…..I think so,” she said softly, looking down at the ground. 

“It makes you sad, a little. Like a bird leaving home. You couldn’t pretend not to be aware.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t.” She looked at her palm. “When I close the rifts…everything feels strange. More…just more. More of everything. More of Cassandra and how Josephine smells like lavender and the blood and the bodies are….are more. Things feel too solid sometimes. Nothing…moves like it should.” She glanced at him. “If I become human….will you still be my friend?”

Cole nodded. “I…want to stay where I’m wanted. I could be more human. I wasn’t really trying before this. I didn’t know how.”

“Do you know how now?”

“I think so.” Cole sat on the rickety table, looking thoughtful. “Solas does not want me to.”

“Maybe he is afraid to lose you.”

“Solas sorrows in solace. He is bright and sad. He understands us but sometimes wishes he didn’t. His pain is so….vast.”

“Across the Veil,” Liesel added.

“He hides why, hides everything as much as he can. He tries to keep us out.”

“Like Corypheus.”

“And Blackwall—but he can’t hide from us.”

“None of them can…….except Solas,” Liesel said softly.

“Except Solas,” Cole agreed.

They looked at each other. 

“It’s something very sad,” Cole ventured.

“Necessary deaths,” Liesel added. 

The two of them sat next to each other on the table. Liesel ducked her head under his hat to lean on his shoulder. He put an arm around her, both of them contemplating on that bone-deep sadness they both felt from Solas. 

“The pain from him is so big and sharp. It pulls always. It tugs, snarls and snares,” Cole said.

“Like a catch in a cliff face. Pulling and picking, hooks under the skin, under the fingernails. He wants to fix it but….”

“He is afraid.”

“Should we tell Cassandra?”

Cole hesitated. “He would be upset.”

“Maybe…..maybe we can…try to see more. See further. See harder. Hear what he’s lost, hear what he’s….what he’s hearing. Maybe see more. Then we can help.”

Cole nodded, resting the side of his temple on top of her head.

 

 

It was a relief to get out of the swamp. Solas took her aside almost immediately when they went through the Hinterlands. 

“Spirits have never been known to have any magical abilities, that you are able to coexist with the Anchor is amazing. It shouldn’t be possible. I wondered if you could tell me how it feels to you.”

“How it feels?” Liesel asked him.

“Yes—is it painful? Do you…hear things from it?” Solas asked.

“Yes,” she told him, looking at it. “I hear a lot of things. I can see red lyrium in there. Doesn’t seem like it should be there. The song it sings is so old and dark. Do you remember it?”

Solas glanced around to ensure they were still alone. “There may have only been one song at the beginning,” he said.

“That was so long ago—even longer ago than you.”

“Yes, even me.”

“Before the laughter, strange friendship with the Elders. The one who blooded the slaves, the one full of anger and the one in the dark cloak. You still remember the first time you saw _her_.” Liesel’s voice wandered away, sinking into his thoughts. “Flowing white hair and dark eyes, nervous and afraid in front of the Elders. Mythal taking her as her apprentice. A matching set. Pride for Elgar’nan and Grace for Mythal.”

Solas looked away, taking a harsh breath. “She was…my friend.”

“The Navigator,” Liesel said softly. She looked into Solas’ face, seeing suddenly—all the pain there. “You woke up in her temple. Alone.”

“I did. Alone.” Solas took a slow, deep breath. “She was my friend. I don’t know what happened to her.”

“It wasn’t Falon’Din. He was hard inside to protect a heart scarred by brutality and warfare. He only felt alive when he was fighting. But he liked Ghilan’nain.”

Solas tried to smother his heart beat. “Liesel—we’re getting off-topic. We’re talking about the Anchor.”

“Yes. I want to….fall in. When I watch it. When I listen too much. Like seeing the whole world in one picture. In one sound or smell. A feast of the mind.”

“Do you dream when you sleep, Liesel?”

“I don’t really know what a dream is,” she told him. “I’ve heard it but…Varric doesn’t know either. It’s in the Fade, right? And we’re only in the Fade…sometimes. When we sleep. Like you, you go into the Fade, even though all the demons—even me and Cole—we must cause you pain.”

Solas nodded. “It is something I’m willing to bear, Liesel.”

“Don’t tell Cole. He’d be sad if he knew.”

“Could he not just read your thoughts?” Solas asked her.

“Yes but…we….try to. Talk. More. Out loud. Not. Not on the inside. If we are inside our heads for too long, we only start to recognize each other. We don’t want to be the same.”

“But you are slowly becoming more human along with him. Liesel—you may have to become human. But Cole doesn’t have to. If he decides not to—don’t push him.”

Liesel peered at him, puzzled by that. “Why would I? He’s my friend.”

“Yes, but….”

“He should do what makes him happy. I’ll be his friend either way.”

“I know—but he may not be able to be yours, should he remain a spirit.”

Liesel peered closer. “Solas…Cole is your friend too. He likes you. You….understand him all the time. Not just….not just sometimes. Not just when everything is clear for awhile. It’s…always. You understand him. You help explain things to him. I won’t take him away. He’s my friend but I can’t help him like you all can. If I become more human…I hope I can still see him.”

“He would likely let you see him,” Solas said, a little awkwardly, feeling faintly guilty for some reason.

“I hope so.”

Solas gauged the measurement from her Anchor, feeling the vast power locked within that she could not seem to reach yet. It had already given her extraordinary focus when she heard thoughts—it allowed her to slip by many of the barriers that the mages could put up. But she couldn’t seem to channel it otherwise. The stronger her force of will became—perhaps that would change. But for now, the passive abilities it gave her and the sealing of the rifts seemed the extent of her control over it. 

 

 

When they returned to Skyhold, Josephine took her aside with Cullen and Cassandra to discuss the Winter Palace. Liesel found it hard to focus on this, the subtleties of human politics were lost on her. They wanted to teach her to dance and make her some new clothes. She looked at Cassandra for most of it, taking cues from the human. 

“Josephine has asked me to help teach you,” Cullen told them. “Dancing is not really a specialty of mine but I did learn.”

“Dorian could likely help as well,” Josephine said. “He is accustomed to such things. And Solas, probably.”

Liesel didn’t really know much about dancing. She’d seen it done but didn’t understand it. So when the time came, Cullen and Dorian pushed the war table against the back wall.

“Why do I have to learn to dance?” Liesel asked.

“Because as much as we should like to keep you away from all these nobles—it will be impossible. We don’t want you to trip and fall on your face, Liesel,” Dorian said. “It would be embarrassing.”

“Oh.” She stood by herself until Cullen walked up to her. 

The commander had removed his mantle and cloak. Dorian cast an appreciative eye over him, though the Commander did not see it. Cullen took her hands and explained what to do. He felt faintly embarrassed for some reason. “Now, if one of them tries to get too close or touches you _anywhere_ besides your hand or your side—he shouldn’t do that.”

“Why?”

“It’s….uh…” Cullen floundered a little. “It’s wrong. Some people…don’t observe….uh. Personal boundaries. They always should.”

“What if they don’t?” Liesel asked him.

“Then you come to me or Dorian or any of the others. And you point out who it was. And we break his arms.”

Dorian snorted on a laugh. Solas was leaning on the wall by the war table. He smiled.

“But we don’t kill him or her?”

“No. It’s usually not necessary. To. Kill them. Even if you want to.” Cullen chuckled. He took Liesel’s hand in his and placed to other at her waist. “Your hand on my shoulder, Liesel.”

She put her right hand on his shoulder.

“There you are. Basic dancing form,” Cullen told her. “Now, try to look at me, Liesel—up here,” he tapped his nose with their clasped hands. “You have to get a feel for the movement. You can still sense where my feet are, right?”

“Yes,” Liesel said, looking everywhere and trying to absorb all the information.

“So you won’t have to watch them.”

“Lucky her,” Dorian said. “When I learned to dance—it was terrible trying to get a feel for the steps.”

Cullen took a slow step forward, advising her to step back, to feel the rhythm. It took her stumbling a few times but Cullen merely waited for her to get her bearings back. “Remember to look at me, Liesel.”

“That’s…that’s very hard,” she said softly, stopping in place. He stopped with her. “I can…listen with my feet. But when I look at you—the eyes. That’s where all the thoughts come in. It’s where all the emotions live.”

“Ah, I suppose hearing someone’s thoughts while you’re trying to dance would be like juggling plates while they’re on fire,” Dorian mused.

“I don’t mean to,” Liesel said, sighing softly. Her shoulders slumped. “I’m…I’m not a human,” she told them, something shaking in her voice. 

“Liesel?” Cullen asked gently. “It’s all right, Liesel. We’ll help you.”

She dropped Cullen’s hand and stepped back. “I’m sorry.” Something was welling up inside of her, something big and bursting and she couldn’t get a handle on it. It hurt, suddenly. Her inability to perceive things like the humans did. 

“Liesel,” Dorian said gently. 

“I don’t know how to turn it off! I can hear everything! I hear all of you. It’s….quieter with the Breach closed but…the more I use the Mark, the louder its getting.”

“What?” Solas said sharply, standing up straight. 

“It’s—it’s been slow. But I’ve noticed. And the more rifts I close with it—the more I….the louder…the louder it gets. It’s intense and I can…I can smell and hear and see everything. Everything always.”

“Liesel, calm down,” Cullen said, gently stepping towards her.

“Don’t—I don’t want to hurt you. Or anyone else,” Liesel said frantically, backing away. “I hurt you. You are my friends. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Liesel, it was an accident last time. I know you didn’t mean to,” Cullen told her firmly.

“I don’t know how to….” She shook a little. “I don’t know how to make it quiet when it’s too loud. In the Fade, I can move things and change shapes and build everywhere. Here, I can’t….but…but sometimes…the Mark makes me feel like I can. I can…I can bring the Fade. Here.”

Solas approached slowly. “You….pull the Fade in through the Mark?”

“Like a mage?” Dorian asked.

“Yes,” she said, shoulders curling inward. “But I can’t control it. I can’t do anything.” That seemed to be where her distress was coming from. 

She was in limbo between human and spirit, unable to fully do either and unable to go back. 

“You’re….now aware of what things you can’t do that we’re asking you to do?” Solas surmised.

“I can’t do anything properly. I can’t…I can’t even remember my _purpose_. I was a spirit. But what _was_ I? Why can’t I remember?”

“Liesel—“

“If I can’t remember, then how do I know I existed? How do I know that I formed this body? How do I know that I didn’t steal it? How can I find purpose when I don’t know what it means? I have some purpose—but I don’t know what is was—I—“

“Liesel!” Solas grabbed her shoulder.

“No—don’t—!” She tried to push him away.

Too late.

The Anchor flared and thoughts flashed into forms around them. Dorian and Cullen stared as the war room disappeared. They were surrounded by people—rather, elves. Many elves were grouped together in a lush, green field. A watchtower stood proudly behind them. At the doors, there was Solas, standing with a woman, tall and noble-looking. 

“You were able to save so many. Thank you, Solas,” the woman said.

He had long dark hair—Dorian hadn’t even recognized him until the woman said his name—Solas inclined his head to woman. “We have much to do, my lady—but we can begin. Everything is in place. We—“

The real Solas grabbed Liesel’s face and barreled into her with his will. He wrenched control away from her, painfully harsh, and dissolved the memory. 

“Solas!” Cullen demanded, a hand on his dagger hilt. “What are you doing?”

Dorian backed up a few steps, watching Solas carefully. The feeling he got from the other mage was….odd. Full of anger and frustration and fear. 

Solas had one fist curled in Liesel’s shirt, his other hand planted at her forehead as he stared into her eyes, smothering her will with his own until the last fragments of the illusion disappeared. She cried out softly when Solas released her, slumping to her knees. She held her head, rocking back and forth.

“What did you do?” Dorian demanded.

Solas looked at the two of them and whirled around, walking out the door as silent and ominous as a thunder cloud.

Dorian hurried to the spirit, kneeling beside her. “Liesel—“

She flinched away from him. 

“What did he do?” Cullen asked.

“He overrode her will with his,” Dorian said darkly. “It’s a step above binding her to him—but it’s not a large step.”

“We should find Cole.”

“Yes,” Dorian agreed, getting up to do so. The other spirit was halfway across the yard when Dorian stepped outside. He flashed forward to the mage. He didn’t wait for Dorian to speak. He just looked at him for a moment and then vanished.

By the time Dorian got back to the war room, Cole was sitting on the floor with Liesel. The two spirits weren’t speaking as she rocked back and forth but she looked slightly calmer.

“Isn’t it a little extreme for Solas to have overrode her will like that?” Cullen asked.

“Yes. He _really_ didn’t want us to see his memories. I don’t know if he’s just intensely private or if there’s something he doesn’t want us to see….but….overriding her will wasn’t necessary.”

“He’s never done that to Cole, has he?” Cullen asked.

“I don’t think so. But with the Anchor—it seems to be making Liesel’s abilities more unpredictable. And becoming more human is intensifying her reactions.”

Liesel curled up in a tight little ball, leaning on Cole’s shoulder under his hat. 

“We’ll hold off on dancing for today,” Dorian said. “We should tell Leliana and Cassandra what happened.”


	7. Eye of the Raven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole and Liesel were sitting on top of the roof of the barn. Blackwall always yelled at them to go away when he saw them there. But today, they ignored him. Liesel had gotten a strange, stubborn look on her face and scowled and Cole felt her will strengthen. They wouldn’t move for Blackwall today. Maybe they wouldn’t move on any day in the future either.  
> \-----------------
> 
> That one time when the wolf draws the hard gaze of the raven.
> 
> \------------------

Leliana sat in the shadows, watching Solas. The mage was sitting in front of the war table in a plain chair. Cullen was sitting near the door, Dorian sitting opposite of him. Josephine was sitting in front of the elf. Cassandra was in the opposite corner of Leliana, watching.

“We’ve trusted you a great deal, Solas. And we still do,” Josephine was saying. “Your experience, knowledge and power has been invaluable to us. But—as Liesel becomes more human and as she is exposed to more of the Mark—we all must understand that sometimes, like Cole, she may say something that we find painful.”

“She does not speak it so much as visualize it out loud,” Solas said quietly, well aware of all the eyes on him.

“Which can be very painful,” Josephine reiterated. “We are trusting our mages a great deal—I do not want to have to confine her to certain areas.”

“Not that we likely could,” Leliana said.

“Or have to restrict our own mages from interacting with her.”

Solas blinked at her. “You all would try to prevent me from speaking with the Inquisitor?”

“She is Inquisitor, yes. She has peculiar insight that has allowed her to make decisions. And. Well. They’ve been good ones. So yes, we made her our Inquisitor. But she’s not like a mortal—and as she changes—becomes more human…” Josephine trailed off.

“She is in a period of flux right now,” Dorian spoke up. “She’s changing because of the Anchor. She changed a lot after Haven—it wasn’t obvious but she is a lot more self-aware. Her friendship with Cole is very important to her. And she cares about all of us too. Just the intensity of the visions showed me that. We have to be prepared not to jump to conclusions if and when we are shown something strange. If anything seems incriminating—we should be willing to discuss it.”

“Was it incriminating?” Solas asked sharply. “Me speaking to a woman with several elves?”

“Well, your clothes were incriminating—but the hair did look nice,” Dorian told him, flatly.

“We would not have suspected so much but for your reaction, Solas,” Cullen said quietly. 

“They said you overrode her will with yours,” Cassandra said, voice hard as flint. 

“I did. Because I knew I had to take control of the vision in order to dissolve it. Yes—I perhaps panicked when suddenly faced with my own memories.”

“They’re private, of course,” Josephine said. “We understand and respect that. But she means no ill will. Overriding her will like that…seemed a touch extreme.”

Solas looked around at all of them and took a deep breath. “…yes. It was. I….I apologize. Her presence has thrown me a great deal.” He looked away from their eyes. “I cannot predict her actions—as a spirit, it’s always a puzzle what their motivations are—and as a spirit, we can’t even guess how the Anchor affects her. I apologize. I will do whatever I can to keep calm next time.”

Solas could admit that to himself, at least. He had reacted too swiftly. Even Cole was being more careful around him, trying to parse out why he had overrode her will. 

“If there is a next time,” Cullen said from behind him, “it would behoove you to not override her will ever again. You do that, and _you_ will be confined.”

Solas’ eyes narrowed, feeling Cullen’s gaze on the back of his neck. “I am as concerned for her safety as the rest of you. She is the only one who can seal the rifts.”

“You are politely interested whenever someone else’s skeletons are laid out for all to see,” Cassandra said, “but when they are your own—you are swift and violent. I can understand that part. No one wants their secrets peeled open like an infected wound. And we cannot help but be curious when we see the darkness in others. I can understand all that. But not forcing your will on her. Or on Cole, for that matter, if you’ve ever done it to him. That is unacceptable.”

“Are we, to what then, simply allow her to look into our thoughts and reveal things we might be particular about?” Solas asked stonily.

Cassandra sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. She’s becoming more human whether we like it or not. Spirits are your expertise, Solas. Humans are ours. Block her from entering your thoughts, if you can—prevent her from looking in, if you can. Maker knows the rest of us simply can’t. And so we deal with what she says—and with what Cole says—who likely sees the same things but he can’t bring them to life around us. She can.”

Josephine sighed. “This only reinforces my reservations about the Winter Palace.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that,” Cassandra said. “She has to come or we get no invitation. She should have someone trail her, a bodyguard. Iron Bull is too obvious—and he will not be able to properly deal with the magic—should it get out of her control.” 

“Vivienne dislikes her because she is a spirit, as does Blackwall.”

“It sounds like Cullen or myself should play big brother,” Dorian laughed. “He can suppress magic—“

“Well, not any longer,” Cullen said. “I no longer take lyrium.”

“But you’ll know what to look for,” Leliana said. “You should be in the ballroom, just to observe. But she shouldn’t wander alone unless she has to. Which—with all these nobles and the Game, it might come to that. Gaspard will ask her to dance, as will every other noble who can get words in her ear.”

“I can, as well,” Cassandra said. “I will escort her as much as I can.”

“The nobility will be intimidated by you Cassandra, it may put a damper on our presence there,” Josephine said carefully.

Cassandra snorted. “I don’t care about them. She’s not a means to an end, Lady Montilyet. She’s a person so much as any of us.”

Solas raised his eyebrows. “Your perspective has certainly shifted, Seeker.”

“I no longer have the luxury of following blindly. The Maker has sent that which can help—she has shown a real desire to help us. I judge her by her actions, not by her origin.”

“Would that more thought like that,” Solas said, a little tersely.

“You might remember that lesson for yourself,” Leliana told him, raising her eyebrows at the elf. “You are a hypocrite at your best and openly disdainful otherwise.”

Solas’ shoulders stiffened. 

“Are you about to say that you aren’t?” Leliana predicted. “Because you’re smart enough, you should know better. You hate the things Sera says to you when she throws the mistakes of the elves in your face? You do the same thing to the rest of us and then demand that we not look at you as just a pair of ‘pointed ears’. The answer to prejudice isn’t _more_ prejudice, Solas.”

“You were the Left Hand of the divine. How many injustices have you upheld?”

“I got myself into a position to change things. What have you done besides join the Inquisition? Insult Dorian at any given opportunity when he tries to be polite? Bicker with Iron Bull about the Qun? Look down your nose at Sera because she tries to _do_ things about the pain she sees? You tell Varric he should act, do more about the dwarves underground because, clearly, he represents the entire race to you, does he not?”

Solas closed his mouth, eyes narrowing.

“You tell them how they should act—and do nothing yourself. You are a hypocrite.” Leliana leaned back in her chair, meeting Solas’ hard blue eyes. “And everyone is to some degree. But you use yours like a battering ram. So no, it’s not out of the question for us to suspect you. Or to leash you if you prove a danger to the Inquisitor—or to Cole.”

“You would find it difficult to _leash_ me, Leliana.”

“Then maybe you should leave the Inquisition. Or tell us why you are so insistent on staying.”

Solas felt the tone in the room shift. This was at the heart of this conversation. Not so much for the others but for Leliana. She had a brilliant mind for tactics—sometimes Solas forgot she was a spy at heart. He should have been more careful. He should not have assumed these humans would be too brutish and blind to see….

“Who _was_ that woman, Solas?” Dorian asked in the strained silence that followed.

Solas barely moved. His eyes traveled over Cassandra, Josephine and Leliana, still in front of him. Josephine was glancing between them all nervously. Cassandra’s face was stern and hard. Leliana’s was a mask, revealing nothing. He could still feel Cullen and Dorian behind him. 

Not a good place to get trapped.

Solas tilted his head and took a slow breath. “She was….my mentor.”

“And the elves?” Dorian pressed.

“Slaves that I had freed.” 

“And where was the Watchtower we saw?” Cullen asked.

“It was deep in the Dales—away from other settlements and people. It was dedicated to Fen’Harel.”

“The elven trickster God,” Leliana said, eyeing him.

“Yes. We used it as a meeting place when we freed slaves.”

“Why not just tell us that? What is the harm to freeing slaves?” Cassandra wanted to know.

“There isn’t,” Solas answered carefully. “Just that I am an apostate…but also a criminal if it were desired to be perceived that way.”

“If you were just freeing slaves than the only criminal thing you did was cut your hair,” Dorian said.

“So you were afraid you might be recognized?” Cullen asked.

“Yes. And there are some out in the world who did not appreciate my actions. I was younger then. I was hot-blooded and cocky, always looking for a fight. I don’t regret freeing slaves but…I do regret some of the actions I felt I had to take to do it.”

“That’s understandable,” said Dorian, sounding lighter now, even pleased.

It occurred to Solas that Dorian…did not _want_ him to be guilty of anything. He had tried to be Solas’ friend and Solas had been prickly in return—but here, when Dorian could have used anything he saw to be suspicious, he was trying very hard to give Solas the benefit of every doubt.

It reminded him of June—before he’d succumbed to the madness, like the others. June tried hard to see good in others. After all, when he had to Blood their slaves, none of them really liked him after that. He didn’t even seem to like himself after that. But he’d thrown in with the Elders and there was no turning back…

“Next time, just explain,” Dorian said. “I know a little of how you feel—there are certain things I’d rather you all not know. Everyone has secrets. You were, at least, doing something noble. I was just fucking up, mostly.” 

“That makes me feel a little better,” Cullen agreed softly.

“So now we can focus on the Winter Palace?” Josephine said brightly, eyes still looking nervously between the others.

“By all means, Josie,” Leliana said. She still watched Solas closely. She wasn’t convinced but she would watch the elf closer now. She had a sneaking suspicion that he might be older than he appeared. She’d heard reports of ancient elves that were still alive. They were rare, yes. But she’d had a whisper or two over the last few years. And Solas did not really resemble the other elves here. He had the smaller eyes, the narrower face. Perhaps he was an ancient elf who knew more about the orb than he let on. That would explain the lying about a teacher. So how long ago had he freed these slaves? And if he were an ancient elf and this event happened years ago—where had he been all this time? And who would he have to worry about recognizing him? Another ancient elf? Perhaps someone connected to Corypheus?

Leliana had suspected since he’d arrived that there was more to Solas than what he presented. What Dorian and Cullen had seen, confirmed it. She wondered how much of what he’d told them was a half-truth. He was an excellent liar and he had a remarkable poker face. The vision had thrown him off so much that he’d reacted with anger and fear, almost panic. Why worry so much about Cullen and Dorian seeing that? It seem innocuous. Even noble. 

_Maybe his mentor was from Tevinter?_

That could be. It might explain all the bickering he did with Dorian about techniques and origins of abilities. And since no one in the south really trusted Tevinter….and Tevinter had slaves…

Still…something was missing. 

But for now, it gave Leliana a place to start.

 

 

 

Cole and Liesel were sitting on top of the roof of the barn. Blackwall always yelled at them to go away when he saw them there. But today, they ignored him. Liesel had gotten a strange, stubborn look on her face and scowled and Cole felt her will strengthen. They wouldn’t move for Blackwall today. Maybe they wouldn’t move on any day in the future either.

Cole liked Solas. Solas was his friend. But…peering into Liesel after Solas had forced his will on her…that had frightened him. He didn’t want to think Solas was capable of that. The mage had said time and again that he did not bind spirits. And Cole could feel that he was telling the truth. So for him to do this to Liesel was…strange. Strange and dark and uneasy. He felt it when Cassandra learned of it. Her anger had been a blaze of feeling. Cole sat next to her in the war room, hidden by his huge hat until she was ready to go. And then he walked with her.

She had felt different afterwards. But it was hard to describe how. It was all inside. In the deep-dark. No, maybe _that_ was it. She had a deep-dark now.

Cole could remember things that had happened to him but it was always in flux, always speeding around in his head to recall when he needed it—but not really present otherwise. But the deep-dark, where mortals kept their fears and sadness, Cole didn’t really have something like that. Liesel didn’t either. Until now.

It was a little dark web of knots and tangles, confusion. 

Cole knew instinctively what it meant: her transition to becoming more human was advancing. And whatever Solas had done to her—had thrown it forward. Perhaps because it was so abrupt, Liesel had not spoken to anyone in almost two weeks. She was totally mute when anyone spoke to her. She would look at Cole and they would touch minds in the ways spirits did, as if she were desperately trying to gain it all back. But she could not. The Mark wouldn’t allow it and Solas smothering her will seemed to be having a lasting effect on her. Cole did not mind answering questions for her. She seemed to need it. He could hear more of her hurts now. It was sad to listen to. Sad to watch. What if her spear stopped talking to her? Would she still be able to fight?

He looked at her hand, curled up in his as she leaned on his shoulder under the shadow of his hat. She was feeling him less and less in her head. So she touched his sleeves a lot. Today was the first time she’d taken his hand. She was both becoming more real and yet, slipping away. It made something confusing and painful happen in Cole’s heart. 

And then, suddenly, she spoke out loud, “….Cole,” she whispered softly.

He tilted his head so he could meet her eyes.

“They’re….they’re going to make me go to the Winter Palace. Will you come too?”

“Yes,” he said softly. 

She squeezed his hand tightly. “Thank you.”

 

 

 

So save for when he went to confuse servants and help people in Skyhold, he trailed after her. She kept trying to feel Solas’ sadness—but it would be overcome by a terrible suffocating fear. She was trying hard to get back to that, to excuse Solas’ actions as a fluke. She was starting to feel pain of her own, instead of simply being aware of pain from others. After two weeks in silence, she started to make herself speak up. Cole felt how difficult it was. He heard the stutter in her voice, the frantic, nervous beating of her heart. Two weeks of trying to reconnect to the spirit-part of herself and finding it failing had strengthened her will, at least. She must learn how to be more human if she was going to be playing the part of one. Her thoughts were still scattered mostly—like Cole’s. She could still hear thoughts but it was different now in a way that Cole couldn’t quite understand. 

When they finally left Skyhold to head for Halamshiral, she stayed in a wagon, sitting quietly in her seat. She rocked back and forth sometimes but otherwise, just watched the grass roll by. “Cole,” she said quietly.

He looked at her.

“You should go talk to the others.”

Cole blinked, staring at her. “Why?”

“They miss you. Varric and the Iron Bull and Dorian, Solas, Cullen, Cassandra and even Sera. They need your help.”

Cole touched her mind gently, feeling something strange in her. Something solid, like a decision had been made. Something that needed to happen. But also an intense, dark despair. It made Cole want to reach out, to try to _help_ but…but there was nothing he could do.

This was what had to be.

She looked up at him, face pinched and eyes glossy and wet. 

Cole’s lips pressed together and he nodded. “I will come back. You’re still my friend.”

She nodded silently, swallowing hard. He vanished. She pulled her cloak tighter around her and sobbed silently into the fabric. But it must be done. She could not cling to Cole in hopes of stopping the process. The Anchor would not allow her to remain unchanged. And if Cole remained a spirit then…then he needed to continue to fulfill his purpose. Otherwise, he would be pulled into her despair and it would hurt him.

 

 

 

At Halamshiral, a manor was given over to their use. The Bold Horse—framed by statues of the animals rearing and strong in front of it. Josephine was in a flurry to get everyone ready with last minute fittings and adjustments. 

Liesel’s dark brown hair, amber-green eyes and nut-brown skin led Josephine to put her in dark green. The Antivan pinned her hair in a bundle of curls on top of her head. She tried to talk to Liesel about how they would use her clothes and appearance to get the better of the nobles—probably to try and encourage her. But Liesel wasn’t really listening. The dress was comfortable, though heavy with green and gold brocade, little leaves were stitched into the fabric, making it glitter in the lamp light. 

Josephine kept shooting concerned looks at Leliana and Cassandra. She was fretting a lot. Maybe about the dress? Or about everyone behaving or about them being attacked. Or maybe all of the above. She wouldn’t leave the bundle of lace at her throat alone until Leliana made her leave.

Alone with the spymaster, Leliana sat down in front of Liesel. It took a moment or two to focus on the woman’s eyes. Everything still felt slow and listless.

“Liesel, I need you to come out of your head.”

Liesel stared at her. _Why?_ She shook her head a little. “Why?”

“I know you’re hurting,” Leliana said gently. “I know you are changing and you’re confused. But for tonight….” 

“You need me to do this for the Inquisition,” Liesel said, almost with a parroted complacency and dimming of her eyes.

“No,” Leliana answered. She waited for Liesel to raise her eyes back to her. “Have you ever been to a ball, Liesel?”

The girl shook her head.

“The only thing I want you to do tonight, is to focus on what you see and hear and smell and experience.”

Liesel looked away. “I’m supposed to only do what the Inquisition wants. That’s my….my purpose.”

Leliana frowned. “No, Liesel. Cassandra has come to trust your judgment. That’s what we need from you.”

“My….judgment?”

“We will have to decide tonight—who could be a good leader for Orlais. We only have three choices. Gaspard, Celene or Briala. None of us can do what you can. This will be overwhelming for Cole. He’s still mostly a spirit. But you are somewhere inbetween. You alone can hear thoughts as well as be self-aware.”

“What if I…what if I act wrong?” Liesel said quietly, anxiety flickering through her eyes.

Leliana smiled, seeing a flicker of someone who almost reminded the Nightingale of herself, a long, long time ago. “Liesel—we have defied the Chantry, we have defied the hole in the sky, we have defied Corypheus. We told the Templars to work for us, and they do. We told the nobility to listen to us and, guess what—they do. At this point, you could flip all the tables and we could explain it away. Please don’t, of course. But if you say something quirky or strange—we will handle it. After Corypheus and the demons at Therinfal—I’m not worried. I trained as a spy from a young age. Cassandra and Josephine and Cullen were brought up to worry. But I rely on my instincts. I know that I am skilled and talented. So I don’t worry. And Liesel—that is exactly what you and Cole do. You act based entirely on gut feeling. Because that’s your foundation. A spy works almost the same way.”

Liesel blinked at her, eyes becoming more aware. “R-Really?”

“Yes,” Leliana told her, smiling. “You would be a natural spy.”

Something broke over Liesel’s face, like wonder or awe. “I can? So—if I become more human…”

“That can be your purpose, if you choose it,” Leliana told her. “I can teach you.”

“Yes,” Liesel said immediately. “Please? I…I want to have a purpose.”

“You will, Liesel. Tonight will be good practice. Go with your gut, your instincts. I trust you.”

“Thank you, Leliana.” Liesel shuddered but her heart lifted. “Thank you.”

The spymaster leaned forward with a kerchief and gently wiped her eyes. “I know this is difficult for you and chaotic, definitely. Try not to focus on that. All I want you to do is get to know the people. And then come to me sometimes and tell me about it. And when you’ve learned as much as you can, come back to me and we’ll get with Josephine and Cullen and make a decision. All right?”

Liesel nodded swiftly. “Yes—thank you.” She managed a watery smile.

Leliana noticed a difference almost immediately when they left the suite. Liesel took some steadying breathes and then nodded to herself.

“Leliana?”

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

“….do I….do I look nice?” She asked, eyes wide and anxious for a moment. "I can't tell. Everyone says you're beautiful."

“Josephine dressed you. You look very pretty.”

Liesel nodded a little. “T-thank you.” She absently touched Leliana’s arm and then walked into the lower hall. The others were gathering slowly.

Someone had managed to wrangle Cole and dressed him in blue brocade, embroidered with golden waves, looping and swimming over the fabric. Dorian took credit for it. As well as the credit for trimming and dressing Cole’s hair. 

Iron Bull was resplendent in purple and gold. Saarabas was with him. She’d nearly forgotten about the silent mage with his lips stitched shut. She peered at him, suddenly seeing how strange it was that his mouth was sewn shut. 

She should fix that.

But for now, Saarabas just eyed her and stayed in place when they all headed out to the carriages. Sera, who was flaunting canary yellow and light green silk, hesitated and then sat in her carriage. Liesel looked at her, glancing at the door and then back at the elf.

“Don’t get wound up, yeah. Need a place to sit. Here’s a spot.”

Liesel looked around uncertainly.

“Look, I heard what happened with elfy. You didn’t deserve that, yeah? So, I’m sorry. And hey, I believe now, all right?”

“Um. All right…” Liesel said softly. 

 

 

 

When they arrived at the Palace, Liesel seemed to forget everything else. The palace was massive, gorgeous, with beautiful flowers and pools of water and people dressed in all sorts of curious things. So many hats! So many lovely hats! 

The masks were different. They gave Liesel a strange feeling in her stomach—like something was wrong with them but not exactly sure what. They had faces on their faces. It was unnerving. 

There was music and lamps and jugglers and fire-eaters. There was a square full of puppies and tables and tables of food that Varric had not shown her yet. There was perfume and candles and incense and the swish and swirl and pull of silks and satins. The hot breath when couples came together, some hidden in dark corners, some on the dance floor, where no one smelled like sweat—but like _intent_. They smelled like _motivation_ and _action_.

Her advisers and Cassandra were all dressed in matching red and gold uniforms, so they would be instantly recognizable among the throngs of color and people. Cullen and Cassandra lingered near her when Gaspard came to take her arm. His eyes fixed on her behind his mask and he looked over her in a way that made her feel strange and exposed. 

He spoke briefly—but as soon as he got his first sentence out, Liesel was listening. He was lying all over in his head but his face was so still and strange. 

They introduced her with a lot of names, commander and leasher of Templars and walker of the Fade, shining spirit of Andraste, lighthouse of the faithful, protector of the weak, the mages—just, lots of things. She couldn’t keep track of it all. She walked at the steps and stopped, feeling every single eye in the ballroom turn to her. She felt pinned in place as the herald rattled off all the titles. Cullen veered to her side when his name and title were read. He offered her his arm like they’d planned it that way and she gratefully took it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “They just…they…I….”

“I completely understand,” Cullen told her, winking in a brotherly sort of way.

He squeezed her hand before he let her go and she continued up the steps to bow to the Empress. 

“Spirit of Andraste,” Celene said, inclining her head to her. “Your presence is truly a blessing in these troubled times.”

_Can she know? Can she truly read thoughts? Would Morrigan know? Is she bound to anyone? To anything? What is she?_

Liesel smiled at her. “Your voice is so pretty when you sing, Your Grace. But no one knows. You should sing for the court.”

Celene stared at her, her face still stiff and unmoving. Liesel wandered away. As her advisers predicted, Gaspard and many other nobles wanted to dance with her. Some thought she was foolish or stupid or a particularly talented human actress. Varric brought her a whole plate of new foods to try. And Dorian, mysterious and dark in black and red made everyone dance with her.

When it was time to poke around—it was easiest for her and Cole to go. They could both still hide themselves. Dorian and Sera and Iron Bull came as well, because they were bored and they’d been severely warned not to antagonize any of the nobles.

“Solas is sorry for what he did,” Cole told her quietly as they slipped through the gardens of the Winter Palace. 

She looked at him quietly for a moment. “I kept trying to feel his sadness….but I couldn’t. All I could feel was fear. But….it wasn’t his. It was…mine. Thank you for telling me, Cole.” She clasped his hand and noticed how he looked at her fingers. She looked too. They both just looked for several moments at their clasped hands.

“…….hey. You two awake?” Iron Bull asked.

Liesel let him go. “Yes.” 

 

 

 

The Anchor amplifying thoughts was troublesome most of the time, but tonight, it seemed rather fortuitous. She knew who was lying and where their secrets were kept. Revealing Grand Duchess Florianne as the traitor was simple. She talked with Leliana and Cullen and Josephine about what to do and made her decision. Celene wanted progress, Gaspard wanted war, Briala wanted justice.

Gaspard wanted death, he could have it.

Celene and Briala would work together, especially with the Inquisition watching so closely. 

After that, people got drunk very quickly and someone bade her drink a glass of fuzzy pale water that Varric correctly identified as wine and took it away. 

Solas lingered until he could gently touch her arm. “Liesel…may I speak to you?”

She hesitated, looking at him and then nodding. He led her out of the ballroom. She stayed just out of grabbing distance, still not quite able to shake her unease around him.

“Liesel….I wanted to apologize for my actions. I…I am one of the ancients, as you saw. It scared me to see my thoughts brought to the Real. I never intended to harm you and I am truly, deeply sorry for the damage it did. You’ve changed. You were forced to become more human because of a moment of selfishness. I hope that, in time, you might forgive me.”

“Why don’t you just tell them?”

He looked away. “They would not understand, Liesel. I was an ancient. I slept a thousand years. I woke, perhaps, two years ago. Alone—as you said. I wandered the Fade. I saw its beauty and its pain and when I returned, everything was—“

“Are you afraid of being alone?” She interrupted, staring at him with an eerie intensity.

Solas stopped, slowly turning to look at her. “I….”

_Yes, alone. Cannot. Ghilan’nain is dead because of me. Because of Dirthamen. If he had not taken her power away. Lost them all. Friends, family, freedom, and love. Felassan--_

The thoughts stopped sharply as he struggled to maintain his concentration to keep her out.

“You don’t have to be alone.”

Solas stared at her. “I….I have no choice. The path I must take—“

“You are a mortal, not bound by a purpose like spirits are. You have more freedom than I ever will. Than Cole ever will. Especially now, when all your chains are broken. And yet, you seek to make new ones all the time. You trap yourself because all that freedom is scary, Solas. So you kill people who are important to others. You hurt Felassan. But he’s not dead yet. You planned to kill him after this?”

Solas looked around them quickly—and then felt it. Liesel was totally ignoring his block. She blew it away, a gentle touch of her mind and they were collapsing. The Mark was humming in her.

“If you kill him, Solas, I will tell the others. He is Briala's friend.”

Solas looked down. “I….I do not want to kill him. He’s a good man.”

“Then don’t.”

“I _must_ \--“

“No. That’s a lie you tell yourself to justify all the pain. You can choose. And you’re choosing not to. And for that, you’ll kill everyone.”

Solas wet his lips. “Felassan is already dead—“

“No. He’s alive. You didn’t know. You didn’t let yourself see. The arrow breaks in the sad wolf’s jaws? That’s what Cole said. Corypheus broke Haven but he didn’t break us.”

“I am not like Corypheus—“

“Solas,” Liesel said softly, looking at him, looking into him. “You will have to make a choice. Save the world or become its new villain. You don’t want to be. You should try letting it go.”

Solas raised his eyes slowly, meeting the spirit’s. Like a door in front of him, barred with a lock. The key hung on the handle but only he could choose to take it and leave this all behind.

“Please do not—did you just grab me!” Cullen’s startled voice cut over them. Liesel looked through the doorway. 

She looked up at Solas. “Let it go, Solas. Whenever you try to fix things, they end up worse, don’t they? That’s frustrating. Let it go.”

She turned and walked inside. “Cullen?”

The commander straightened. “Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Did one of these ladies just grab you?”

“Uh. Um. Well—“

“I just couldn’t help myself,” tittered the woman.

Liesel frowned. “Everyone should respect personal boundaries. Always. You are very rude.” She grabbed the woman by her arm, twisting it sharply—

“WHOA! Liesel! Liesel!” Cullen grabbed her hands, prying them off the woman’s arm. “You don’t have to break her arm.”

“Why not? You said if someone did to me than you would break their arm.” The nobles who’d been lingering around Cullen took a couple steps back. Several, including the woman she’d grabbed, fled.

“I was….I was just…I….” Cullen couldn’t seem to help but laugh. 

“You don’t want me to hurt anyone,” she said softly and smiled. “You told me what you told your sisters. And you would do it in a heartbeat. But you don’t want someone to protect you. You are so good, Cullen. You are a good man,” she told him. “You don’t always have to be silent, Cullen. They should respect you. You aren’t a piece of hide hanging on a fence.”

He seemed bemused for a moment and then offered his arm. “C’mon, I’ll show you a dance until Dorian has had enough wine to try teaching you more.”

“He’s very happy when he’s drunk.”

“Yes, he is.”

 

 

 

Solas stayed out on the balcony, arms crossed, watching the Inquisitor.

Just let it go? Just…let it all go? Be rid of all this pain and frustration and….and just….learn how to exist here….

He looked out at the water. He was so accustomed to war and fighting and death and scheming. Could he truly just….just stop it all?

They still needed to take his Orb from Corypheus but…afterwards….would he be able to resist the temptation to follow through anyway? Could he…submit to a life of peace and calm…

Solas looked at his hands, off-footed that he was even considering it.

_Do I truly make things worse when I try to fix them?_

He thought about it for a few moments that stretched entirely too long. 

He looked at his hands again. How long had he ignored that truth? How long had he _known_ it deep down and just ignored it?

He looked back into the ballroom. Dorian hurried up to Liesel, laughing and presenting Cole to her. She smiled for the first time in weeks and took Cole’s hands. Their thoughts melded and mixed like they did in combat. They moved effortlessly together. It was actually rather impressive. 

Had Cole picked up on this truth as well? Or was it the Anchor that allowed her such clarity? 

_Why did I let Corypheus have my orb? I…._

The music turned haunting and smokey as Dorian grabbed Josephine and drug her out to the dance floor to teach the spirits a lively Tevinter dance.

The Veil had made all mortals Tranquil—taking away all ability to cast magic in those who already held it. But those who didn’t have it became more like Cassandra. Magical abilities presented in those people, the balance of power collapsed. If he destroyed the Veil—would those with magic become Tranquil again and suddenly the majority of people in the world would be able to use magic.

And then….the balance of power would collapse….and….

Solas’ eyes fell to a singular rose bush beyond the balcony. The roses were a deep blue. He reached out and plucked one, thumbing the satin-soft petals. 

Maybe….maybe she was right?


	8. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In case you don't know, Felassan is a character introduced in a book called Dragon Age: The Masked Empire and it recounts Briala's story that took her back to the Winter Palace in time for Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts. In it, Felassan is her mentor and BFF.  
> \-----------------
> 
> “We heard you dreaming,” Liesel said quietly.
> 
> “You see all the birds from another life,” Cole added. 
> 
> Sera stiffened. “Uh, what?”
> 
> “You hear them often, this dream. With the birds and the running. You’re always running,” Liesel said, peering at the disheveled elf.

Solas overrode the magic over the eluvian himself. Briala was not a mage and she’d been truly resourceful in getting command of this area of the Crossroads. If she were not in the position she was, he would definitely consider trying to get her to work for him. But she wasn’t and so he couldn’t. Still, he admired her. 

But as he stepped through the eluvian, he had to look away from that thought. He admired her—but that certainly didn’t stop him from sending Felassan to get control of the Crossroads from her. He’d failed. On purpose. He’d….become attached to Briala. It wasn’t romantic love, Solas didn’t think. But did it matter? Love was love. These elves were not Real.

Liesel and Cole had both told him that he didn’t like to hurt people. Solas had hid so long behind the mask of indifference that playing the role had become second-nature to him. And when he did kill, they became Not-Real in his head. 

He had to admit, though, he hadn’t wanted to kill Felassan. But he’d failed. It was expected. He had to kill him. He had to.

Right?

Solas walked through the mist of golden trees, magic tingling against his skin. This was an area he knew well. Ghilan’nain had been trapped here by Dirthamen once. He’d been so desperate to find out how she had created dragons…

But she had refused. She’d held her ground and refused to give in. Her punishment had been savage—the others had all been locked out from the area—

 

 

“Solas!” 

He heard his name from his observatory and came around the pillar of the massive scope he used to peer deep into the Sky sometimes. The gold and green and black was always fluctuating, revealing new and interesting things. 

Mythal was coming down the hallway, her eyes were golden—like an eclipsed sun. Her hair was dark and bound in an elegant knot. 

“My lady,” Solas said, inclining his head. “What is—“

“Dirthamen has locked us out of the Eluvian'an. He’s trapped Ghilan’nain. I need you.”

Solas felt his stomach drop. “Why would he do that!” He demanded as he hurried to walk with her.

She strode beside him. “I didn’t think he would actually be stupid enough to try to get the knowledge from her. Andruil kept her because she created the dragons. He wants to know how. He hates not knowing how. But she is in _my_ service, not his. He has no claim to any knowledge she keeps.”

“She will never give that up. She loves her dragons,” Solas said, feeling the heavy twinge of fear. Ghilan’nain was sweet and graceful and kind—but when it came to her creatures, especially her dragons, she budged for no one. 

But Dirthamen….

“Where is Falon’Din?” Solas asked.

“He’s waiting by the eluvian.”

“For Dirthamen or for us?”

Mythal looked sidelong at him. “For us. Falon’Din is strange about Ghilan’nain.”

“He’s a mad dog,” Solas told her, wrinkling his nose.

“Yes. He’s terrible to most everyone. But not to Ghilan’nain. I don’t know why. He keeps it hidden but something in her seems to gentle him a little.”

Solas huffed as he turned a corner with Mythal and entered a room full of mirrors. 

Falon’Din was not really handsome. He always had an edge of fury about him. He kept close to Mythal, like a bodyguard—but spoke to almost no one else. He didn’t often run off by himself—if only because he was aware of how quickly that madness would descend on him. He had fought alongside Mythal before they’d signed their accord with Elgar’nan. And he was still loyal to her. 

His eyes were deep and black, his hair was dark auburn. It was raggedly cut, unlike most elves—who took great care of their hair (they had time, after all)—Falon’Din chopped away at his like a lumberjack. It hung around the madness of his eyes like a curtain. He looked at the two of them when they entered, silent. His eyes followed Solas, narrowing.

“Anything, Din?” Mythal asked as she approached the mirror.

“No,” he said quietly. “Dirthamen doesn’t want us to see.”

“Solas, stand on the left side. Din, stand on the right. I will override the eluvian but I will need you two to channel power to the mirror to keep it open. June is heading up from the undercroft with Sylaise. They should be here soon.”

Solas stood on one side, Falon’Din stood on the other. He could feel Din’s eyes fixed on him, their dark intensity burning like a black flame. He ignored it. Ghilan’nain was his friend. He had just as much a right to be here as anyone else. 

Mythal placed her palm on the surface of the eluvian. It rippled to her touch, flaring red and painful from the way her eye twitched. That seemed to make her angry more than anything else. Solas and Din both felt it. There was a surge, a rising wave, and a _pulse_.

Mythal’s eyes went wide and yellow. Her fingers stretched and the red sheen to the mirror blasted away. She was through it in a flash.

Falon’Din looked at Solas. “Stay here, welp.”

“But—Falon—“

But the elf went through the mirror as well. Solas latched into the magic, struggling to keep it open with his own power. June appeared with Sylaise. The two immediately came to help as he explained what had apparently happened.

June blew a few strands of hair from his face. “That’s a dangerous thing to do. Ghilan’nain loves her creatures. She would never give them up.”

Sylaise, dark hair woven with seashells and lilies frowned. “I’m not so much worried about her as Din. Falon’Din is not known for his restraint. If the two of them come to blows, they could destroy this section of the Eluvian'an. Dirth took a gamble, stealing Mythal’s apprentice. She'll be furious, let alone when Andruil finds out.”

“Where is she?”

“On the Hunt. Again,” Sylaise sighed. “It seems to be all she knows what to do with her madness.”

With the three of them channeling into the mirror, June presented a small orb. “I think I’ve got this one. I finally made one that stayed in one piece. It’s been collecting power for days.” He invoked around the odd orb and it blasted power into the mirror.

The surface cleared and they could see into the Eluvian'an. Mythal was kneeling beside—

“Ghilan’nain!” Solas let go, dashing through the mirror, leaving June to keep it open instead. Sylaise just rolled her eyes.

Solas staggered into the Eluvian'an, running over to Mythal. “My lady—Mythal—is she—“

Mythal glanced up at him. “Calm yourself, Solas. She’s alive.”

Ghilan’nain was lying on the ground, limp and looking dazed. There was blood all over her face and throat and collarbones. 

“What did he do?” Solas asked, kneeling beside them.

Mythal didn’t look at him, staring down into her apprentice. She was flexing healing magic into Ghilan’nain. She gently moved her white hair out of her face. “He took her magic away.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Not all of it. Just some—that which relates to her dragons.”

Solas stared at her, eyes getting hot. “Where _is_ he?”

“I wouldn’t,” Mythal said quietly. “He’s in the trees and mist. Falon’Din took him for a brotherly chat.”

Solas raised his eyebrows.

“I wouldn’t interfere just yet.”

Solas stared down at graceful, beautiful Ghilan’nain. “Does….Falon’Din….love her?” Solas asked quietly.

“Likely not in the way you think,” Mythal answered. “Din has been through much and it has warped him to a certain degree. Were he born in a kinder era—he probably would be a gentler man. But he wasn’t. So he fights against constant madness instead. She likely represents something like peace to him.”

Ghilan’nain suddenly jerked into awareness, eyes wide and frantic. “No! No!”

“Ghilan’nain—I am here,” Mythal told her quietly, looking into her face. “It’s all right.”

“He—he took them. He took it! He took it away! He—“

“Yes, child. I know. I am so sorry I didn’t arrive sooner.” Mythal picked her up and headed back towards the mirror.

Solas almost followed—until he heard a soft sound; a wet, gurgling sort of sound. Mythal glanced back towards the trees and then went through the mirror with Ghilan’nain. 

Solas peered into the mist. He approached the sound slowly. Slipping up behind another mirror, edging around it to a small circle of trees. 

Falon’Din had his brother on the ground. His eyes were wide and dark, knuckles white as he squeezed harder and harder against Dirthamen’s throat. And just before he lost consciousness, Falon’Din would let go. He let Dirthamen gasp and gurgle, choking and spitting up blood from his throat. And after a moment, Din would begin again.

The Elder of the Dead looked up, peering through the mist right at Solas. “Run along, sun prince. Go check on her.”

Solas hesitated, looking at Din and then Dirth and then back at Din.

Din’s eyes flickered. “ _Now,_ boy.”

Solas took a step back and then fled.

 

 

And here he was, in that same area again. He looked down at Felassan, marked with Mythal on his face. He really _was_ still alive. He was sure that he’d killed the man. It was rather hard to kill ancients but still—Solas could say without any arrogance that he’d become pretty good at it. Solas knelt next to him and cast healing magic over him.

Felassan stared at him while he did it, too weak to move, too shocked to think. His violet eyes looking wide and pale as Fen’Harel healed him. And then the trickster moved his hand over Felassan’s face and he knew in a flash that he’d just removed his _vallaslin_.

Felassan stared at him. “….Fen’Harel….” he murmured softly.

Fen’Harel looked at him for a long, long moment. “If you believe the quick elves of this time can be saved, then go to Briala and try. Show me the reason you think they should live.”

The mage’s mouth fell open. “Fen’Harel—“

“When you are recovered, go. I free you from my service and from Mythal’s.” 

Felassan managed to push himself to sit up, watching in stunned silence as the Dread Wolf turned around and walked back to the mirror he’d emerged from without a word.

 

 

 

There were so many birds. Birds everywhere, blocking out the clear deep inside the Breach. She was flying. Flying so fast and high and hurrying onward always. Her hair was so much longer, coiled up in twists of hemp to keep it tame. From tangling in the trees as she ran.

The monsters were here somewhere. Last time, she’d gotten almost too close to the Void. Somewhere, deep down, she knew it was driving a deep wedge of madness into her. But what could she do? She could either kill others or she could hunt beasts. So she would hunt. She must hunt. To somehow…tame the constant rage and smell of blood in her nose and always worrying about the next war. She could feel too much, too far, with her magic. Everything felt far away and yet, if she could run just a little farther, surely she could reach it. Reach. Something. Something beyond the world and the Fade and into the Void, where the great monsters slept. Were they the source of all the madness? If she could just tame a dragon—learn to ride them—she could mount it in battle and drive them all into the Beyond with spear and arrow. 

Run faster, faster, faster—speeding by trees and animals, plants and magic, crystal spires that she hated. Everything was too clean and too perfect and too fucking _boring_ among the others. 

Except for _him_ , of course. He hated everyone and no one really liked him. The madness was different from hers. Not a lot different, but enough. Enough that they knew not to antagonize each other, anyway.

The cliffs were coming but she wasn’t afraid. The cliffs sped towards her but she didn’t slow down. She took a great flying leap off the edge, plunging into the Fade—

 

 

Sera jerked awake, breathing hard. She was covered in sweat. Too many birds.

Too many birds.

Maybe she should ask Leliana about these dreams? They seemed to be….more frequent now. They—

Sera froze, eyes slowly scanning her room. _Not alone._ She slid her hand under her blanket to grab the dagger waiting there, still hot from her feverish skin. 

There was a spark of a match, forcing Sera to blink quickly so her eyes could adjust. “Fucking shit!” Sera managed, jumping when she saw Cole and Liesel standing in front of her door like creepy statues. “What the hell are you two doing?”

“We heard you dreaming,” Liesel said quietly.

“You see all the birds from another place,” Cole added. 

Sera stiffened. “Uh, what?”

“You hear them often, this dream. With the birds and the running. You’re always running,” Liesel said, peering at the disheveled elf.

“You know, I’m trying not to be so freaked out by you two and then you gotta come sneak up on me like this. It doesn’t help, you know!”

“Solas would understand your dreams,” Cole told her, peering at her under the brim of his hat.

“Phht! Not a chance! Solas—he just thinks he’s better than me. He thinks we’re all stupid and he’s the best thing ever.”

Liesel looked down at the floor. Cole did not. At the same time, the spirits reached out and clasped hands. 

Cole spoke. “You are. Alike. In a way that can be difficult to understand. It’s a feeling of running, like you see. Running through time and the Fade. And in your head. You run hard in your head. You’re trying to catch it. To understand it. But it’s very hard.”

“It’s bigger than you are, down deep inside,” Liesel said. “Stay back from the Void, Sera…”

“What are you _talking_ about!” Sera demanded, getting up from her nest of blankets.

“You’re only angry because you want to understand and you’re afraid,” Cole told her. “You become angry when you’re scared and that’s okay.”

“I—I’m not…fucking piss. I’m not scared. I just…”

“You were drawn to us,” Liesel said softly. “You should talk to Solas about your dreams. They’re more frequent now.”

“We want to help, Sera,” Cole said. 

Sera stared at them. The two gaunt, odd spirits, holding hands and—Sera sighed. “Liesel, where’s your shoes?”

Liesel blinked and looked down. “Hmmm,” she said, just noticing herself. She glanced at Cole for a clue. 

He shrugged. 

For some reason, that made Sera smile a little. 

“I’ve been getting better at remembering. I don’t know where they are.”

“Go find your shoes, or Cassandra will throw a fit.”

“We should go look,” Cole agreed. “I saw the rat that took her necklace.”

Liesel’s eyes widened. “We have to find it!”

The spirits whirled around and simply left, leaving their candle behind. Sera pushed her blankets away and watched their shadows stalk the empty tavern. 

She hugged her arms to herself, grabbing a wide scarf and wrapping it over her shoulders. Sera wandered out of her room, going down to the bar and pouring herself a drink. She sipped at it by the fire for a little while. The elf didn’t move until the door suddenly opened. She jumped up, whirling around.

It was Blackwall. 

She stared at him. 

He looked bad sometimes but this was the worst she’d ever seen him. He was extremely drunk, that was obvious. He staggered into the tavern and slammed the door. He did a slight double-take when he saw her. “The fuck are you doing up?”

Sera lifted her eyebrows. “Couldn’t sleep. You?”

“Those fucking demons are crawling around by the stables looking for a rat. Why can’t they ever just leave me be?”

Sera tilted her head. “Huh?”

“They’re always there. Watching me. Always trying to look in my head—they’re demons. We can figure out all this shit without her. How could she be Andraste’s chosen? She’s a lying little witch…” 

Sera looked sidelong at him. “…..Blackwall, they—“

“They—yeah, him and her. A real royal bloody set of demons. She’s becoming more human? Great, an abomination then!”

“What’s the matter with you?” Sera asked him. “I mean—I’m used to the whole downtrodden broody pity party from you but this is different.”

“I didn’t ask for your pity, Sera. You don’t care about purpose. You don’t care about anything. Why are you even afraid of them? How are you religious after everything you’ve been through?”

Sera snorted softly. “Gotta have something to help me sleep at night, right?”

“Is that the only thing?” he asked her, eyes red-rimmed and scattered as he stalked over to the bar and grabbed a wine bottle. He uncorked it and brought it over to the fire.

“Well, what about you then?”

“What helps me sleep at night? Fucking wine, is what. Drowns out all the….the….” Blackwall trailed off, looking away.

“What?” Sera jeered. “Screams? Bad dreams? Life you left behind? Your favorite boots? Take your pick and cry it out.”

“What would you know about any of it!” Blackwall said, suddenly sharp again, growling. “You are a fucking twit! You have no senses and you don’t care at all! Or you just don’t have the bloody sense to care!”

Sera bristled. “What’s tangled in your beard tonight? Not enough people feeling sorry for the Grey Warden and so you gotta come to me and be an arsehole to the only person who can stand you?”

Blackwall threw the bottle. It smashed at Sera’s feet and he launched up, grabbing her by the collar. “You little bitch—you—you shack up with this Inquisition and follow demons and you don’t care about any of it!”

_You’re only angry because you want to understand and you’re afraid. You become angry when you’re scared and that’s okay._

Sera, who had been a half-inch from drawing her dagger, hesitated. She looked down at Blackwall’s fist. It smelled like hay and woodsmoke. She glared up at him in the firelight. “What are you so afraid of?”

Blackwall recoiled like she’d slapped him. “Afraid? Afraid of—what the—“

“What is it that those two see that has you running up the walls like a girl with her pants down? They saw something in Solas that he didn’t want them to—and he punched down pretty solid to stop it. You planning to do the same? I think Cassandra could take you.”

“You’re afraid of them too,” he snapped.

“Yeah—but we’ve been at this for seven months now. Cassandra wanted to kill Liesel at first—but now she doesn’t. There’s a reason I ain’t in charge. And a reason you ain’t either, Blackwall. But even I don’t get as wound up as you. Why do you think you’re so interesting that they want what’s in your head?”

His blue eyes searched her face. “I….”

“Hiding something, yeah? Just like everyone else?”

The way his eyes flinched told Sera everything. 

“Ha, you look surprised. What? You didn’t think I noticed things like that? Thought I was stupid? Is that why you hang around me so much?”

Blackwall let her go and slowly stepped away from her. 

“You wanna drive everyone away, you could at least be funny about it,” Sera groused. “And you ever grab me like that again and I’ll gut you. You’re so scared that you’re getting all pissed at me? I’m the only one who talks to you on a regular basis. If you don’t care about any of the people here—than what the piss are you doing here?”

“I’m doing what’s right as a Grey Warden—“

“Oh, piss up a tree,” Sera told him. “You don’t believe that shit and everyone knows it. They just don’t know why you’re so insistent on playing the role when you’re so fucking bad at it.”

“Grey Wardens can inspire. We are—“

“What have you done to inspire lately? You won’t pull pranks with me. You hate the only one who can close rifts. You hate Dorian—I mean, come on? Who hates Dorian? All he’s tried to do is be nice and make friends. He’s hilarious. And you’re mean to him every time he talks to you. Are they darkspawn under their armor or something? You could try liking people, you know? That might inspire some people. I never met a Grey Warden who hates everyone like you do.”

“I don’t need to like everyone. I fight darkspawn—we’re soldiers, not historians. Not ambassadors.”

Sera lifted an eyebrow. “Do you…actually know what a Grey Warden is?”

His face turned the color of oatmeal for some reason.

Sera snorted. “What? Oh c’mon—I mean—Wardens are just like Templars. Some are shit, some are great. I’ve met both. And I was in Denerim during the blight. But even I know that Wardens have their own historians and teachers.” She rolled her eyes. “So what is it that they see in you that you hate so much?”

“You don’t like them either and—“

“Yeah, and they just showed up in my room and woke me up from a nightmare. Scared the shit out of me. They’re creepy but they’ve never tried to hurt me. Or you. Or anyone else here.”

“What about Cullen—“

“That was an accident. Even he said so. And he wouldn’t if he didn’t mean it. He doesn’t like lying.”

“Well, Solas—“

“Don’t know how accidental that one was. She said it was—and he overrode her will. Seems like that’s scarier than anything she’s done to anyone.”

“He could have just been protecting something and the Seeker threatened to have him confined.”

“Because she’s the only one who can close rifts. And it was an _accident_ ,” Sera said. She scoffed. “How bad are you that somehow _I’m_ the voice of reason right now?”

“So she should just be able to do that to whoever she wants?”

“Well, quit being such a cock up to her and Cole then, idiot. Dorian and Cullen were both _there_ and said it was an accident. If you don’t trust Cullen, at least, then who do you trust here?”

“No one.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Blackwall looked away.

“You wanna help the world or are you trying to prove something to yourself?”

“You don’t understand. You never could.”

Sera rolled her eyes. “Piss off, then.” She turned away to head back upstairs. “Tell me when you’re done crying into your beard.”

Blackwall watched her walk away, feeling helpless. He sunk down into a chair and stared at his hands.

It was their eyes. He couldn’t get away from their eyes. When the two of them looked at him: Cole’s were such a pure, startling blue and Liesel’s were amber-green, like an ugly bruise. Whenever they looked at him…all he could think of were…

_Screaming inside. Crying out for help. Could have stopped it all right then. Could have saved the children, the civilians, everyone. But didn’t. But stood aside and let someone else batter the carriage door open and drag the children out, pull the lady out by her hair and her husband by his fancy cloak. Plunging with daggers and knives and swords. Grabbing that little one, one of the boys—or was it the girl? Grabbing one of them and squeezing until her throat collapsed. Until her eyes bulged with blood and terror and tears. Her tears. His tears. The child’s tears rolling down his fist. Light the carriage, the servant is inside. Another child. Lock the carriage doors and set it on fire._

_Hollow eyes simply staring out at him. She didn’t struggle or try to get out. This was her lot in life. The tears rolled down her thin cheeks and she stared out the window at him as the carriage burned._

_He was choking inside, choking when he remembered those hollow eyes until the smoke got to her and she passed out. Horrified at his relief that those eyes were off of him. Distracted when one of the older boys made a run for it. He was about nine. Someone loosened an arrow and pinned him to the dirt._

“And then we had to prove it…and we cut off each head. We put each head in a bag and tied it to the saddle.”

Blackwall jumped badly, jerking away from Liesel, who was suddenly standing at the end of the table, watching him. He got out of his chair, drawing his dagger. “You going to tell them?”

Liesel stared at him in silence. She looked at his dagger and then up at his face.

“What!” Blackwall snapped at her. “You use the Inquisition as a way to get your little hooks in everyone!”

Liesel looked sadder at that comment but just kept staring up at him.

“Stop it. Stop staring at me like that,” Blackwall commanded. The rage was building up, the longer she didn’t listen. The longer she just stared at him with her _hollow eyes_. 

“You could put it behind you, if you wanted,” she said softly. 

“Shut up, demon,” he said, trying to stop his hand from shaking. “Shut up.”

“But you would have to stop pretending to be someone else to do it.”

Something in Blackwall’s eyes went wide and wild. He grabbed the spirit by her collar and slammed her down onto the table. The Warden stared down at her, holding the dagger up to her throat. She didn’t struggle. She just looked at him. It was infuriating. 

“This might be your last chance to really forgive yourself, Rainier.”

He backhanded her, hard, into the table. Her head cracked against the wood. He had her by the shirt again, hauling her up. He shook her. “What could you know—you are a demon! You steal and cheat and you just want to torment—“

“Rainier,” Liesel said quietly, ignoring the blood seeping from her nose. “We can help you. You’re still afraid of Rainier—but you can change him.”

“I did too many terrible things.”

“Everyone has,” Liesel said quietly. “Things that keep them awake at night.”

“I…but I…I killed them,” he murmured. The big man seemed to lose the feeling in his legs. He sunk slowly to his knees, pulling Liesel down with him. “I…I let them….I…”

“Yes, you did. And then you cut off their heads and tied them up in your saddle bags like trophies.”

Blackwall’s dagger flickered, twitching against her skin. She didn’t move or try to resist or get away. “Why are you here?” Blackwall snapped. “I told you…you and Cole—to go away. To get away and leave me alone.”

“If you’re alone, you’ll die,” Liesel told him. “You need help. The Inquisition is the last place you might get it. Cullen did some bad things too. But he’s atoning. He acknowledges the pains he caused and tries to make it different. You could do the same.”

“It’s different—Cullen—his were mages. Mine were….were children. They—“

“They both were helpless.”

“I know that!”

“Lying only makes it worse.”

“I _know_!” He dropped the knife. He didn’t even realize it. His hands drug up her sides to her collar, wrapping around her throat. He squeezed, eyes wide and sparking with rage, with loss, with—

“Amarina: she dances and smiles. Takes my hand and calls me her _Captain_. All gone now. All gone now. All gone now. All—“

His fingers were too tight, choking the breath out of her. She did not struggle, just stared up at him. Around them, the tavern disappeared, turning into a ballroom. Dancers were there, at first, but then turned into hollow-faced children, suffocating to death, shoving her down to the floor, scraping his knife against her throat and—

Blackwall jerked back from her, sitting on the floorboards. He stared at her. His hands were shaking. His dagger had fallen, clattering near the stone of the fireplace. 

She got up from the floor and walked over to him, kneeling down beside him. “Rainier. It can be over, if you let it.” She embraced him.

Blackwall froze in her arms, staring at her.

“You can be forgiven, if you try.” She let him go, smoothed his hair down and stood up. 

Blackwall watched her walk over to the door, where Cole was waiting. He peered at her from under his hat, reaching out with his sleeve to wipe her nose. They clasped hands and wandered out of the tavern.

Blackwall sat on the floor, bottle of wine smashed, droplets of blood painting his fingers and his dagger lying on the floor. He sobbed.

Behind the railing of the second floor, hidden in the shadows, Sera stared down at him in horror.

 

 

 

Cole and Liesel sat in her quarters. He had taken his hat off and he was wiping off her face.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Did he hurt you?” Cole asked.

“No. He was just sad and angry.”

Cole looked over her throat and nodded a little. “Next time, I’ll do it.”

Liesel leaned her head on his shoulder. “We can take turns.” She looked at her Anchor. They both did until Cole reached out and took her hand in his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started noting Sera's really odd journal entries. 
> 
>  
> 
> [This was an elven Inquisitor, not with Solas, sided with the Templars, after the Winter Palace but before meeting Stroud.]
> 
> I should have been paying attention sooner. Sera's journal entries in the Trespasser DLC are REALLY weird. That was when I first noticed how odd they were sometimes. Like she was seeing something but wasn't sure what it was. She has some kind of magical gift and is very afraid of it. Adds credence to the theory that Sera might be one of the elven "gods" but is like Flemeth/Mythal. She has the spirit of someone (the common guess is Andruil) but she doesn't know it.
> 
>  


	9. Lemon Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then the Templar appeared and Cole—everything inside of him _changed_. Something terrible looming inside of him. He vanished from Liesel’s side.
> 
> She felt a blaze of rage, anger, to—
> 
> _Left me in the dark. I died in the dark. I died. In the dark. In the dark. In the dark. I died. Killed me. Peel off his skin and wear it. Another set of skin to—_
> 
> “Cole!” Solas cried out.

Liesel felt distress. Intense distress. She stumbled up from her chair and her eyes glazed over. She saw it in her head, wisking over the grounds, feeling out everyone, touching their minds gently until:

_I can’t. I’ll be bound. Don’t want to be. Don’t. Can’t. Can’t be. No. No. No._

Cole.

She dashed from the room, speeding down the stairs and flashing across the floor of the main hall. She found him in a far-flung corner with Solas, pacing. 

“Cole!” Liesel hurried to him.

“He won’t bind me!”

Liesel touched his sleeves, then his arms. “What?”

“I don’t want to be bound like the mages in the Western Approach were doing. I don’t want to. I can’t. They’ll make me into a monster!”

“I do not bind spirits, Cole,” Solas interjected.

“Cole,” Liesel said, “you….you…” She looked at Solas. “Can he be bound like this?”

“Yes—it is possible,” Solas told her.

“We can’t! We can’t let them. They’ll….they’ll _change_ him…” She looked at Cole, wrapping her fingers around his. “We’ll make sure. We can. We can find something. I won’t let anyone bind you.”

“Are you not afraid of being bound?” Solas asked her.

“I don’t think I can be because of the Anchor,” Liesel said quietly. “But Cole…he’s….” she looked at him under his hat. “You’re….”

Cole twisted his fingers anxiously. “I can’t let them. If they bind me I’ll be in the bad place again. I’ll be in the dark, the twisted dark, where all you hear are echoes and there’s no control and everything is so dark and painful and full of sadness and—“

“Cole….” Liesel stared up at him, twisting at his shirt. “Cole. Cole….” 

“We’ll help him, Liesel,” Solas said gently. “We’ll help him.”

Liesel refused to leave his side. She stayed with Cole while her advisers hunted for an Amulet of the Unbound. She lost focus on everything else, watching him. She stayed at his side, holding his hand and pulling him down to rest his head on her shoulder. She stroked his hair, feeling all his anxiety and fear and shaking. She put on his hat so she could hide him from the others—like he had done for her when she needed to just be them. Not the Inquisitor or a demon or anything like that—just two spirits, two friends. 

She took him up to her own quarters, making a nest of blankets in front of the fireplace where they could sit and he could lean his head on her. He was so distressed. Out of anyone—she couldn’t reconcile that. She _had_ to help him. She _must_.

When he started to murmur, visions in the dark, seeing a face, a feeling, a name. Warmth from the flames, from pain, from someone who had desperately needed help and he had slid inside a mind like he had slid into hers. 

_Starving pain and sticking ribs, stabbing through the skin and bleeding through the eyes._

“Cole…Cole….don’t get lost, okay? Please….? Cole?”

She rocked back and forth, stroking his hair.

Varric and Solas watched them from afar.

The elf crossed his arms in the war room, frowning at the maps. Varric was sitting in a chair across from him. 

“What is it, Chuckles? The kid?”

“He’s—he is a spirit. He should not have to become human because of her. She is drawing him to it.”

Varric looked up at him. “Ha….is that what you think?”

Solas raised his eyebrows. “Is there some other reason why he would be so confused? He’s confused because of her. She’s drawing him in—she’s not his _only_ friend. He is a spirit.”

Varric peered up at him. “Are you….jealous?”

Solas startled. “What?”

“Cole and Liesel are close. Even I can see that. It’s obvious. They care about each other and they connect in a way that no one else can. It’s not surprising that Cole might want to join her in being more human. But that’s not _her_ fault. You like spirits, I get it. But…Cole is his own….being.”

“He is a spirit. So much more is open to him as a spirit. Being a mortal will….it will change him.”

“Why are you so afraid of change, Chuckles?”

Solas looked at the dwarf and then back at the maps on the table. “I…it always goes wrong.”

“It doesn’t have to. Maybe your outlook needs to change.”

Solas looked at him and then looked away. 

 

So after they found the amulet and it refused to work, they had to travel to Redcliffe. Liesel walked next to him, fretting, fidgeting with her fingers as she felt his pain, his fear. If she could stop it—change it—then she could—

Then the Templar appeared and Cole—everything inside of him _changed_. Something terrible looming inside of him. He vanished from Liesel’s side.

She felt a blaze of rage, anger, to—

_Left me in the dark. I died in the dark. I died. In the dark. In the dark. In the dark. I died. Killed me. Peel off his skin and wear it. Another set of skin to—_

“Cole!” Solas cried out.

Liesel flickered over the grass, grabbing onto Cole’s arm just in time. Before he plunged his knife into the man’s face. The man, on his knees and cowering—

_On his knees. On my knees when they hurt him. They hurt me. Him. Hurt us. Hurt me. Everything hurts. Burns. It’s. Can’t breathe._

“He killed me,” Cole murmured, staring down at the man. “He killed me. I have to kill him back.”

“Cole—you don’t,” Liesel told him, grabbing his hands to pull him, to try to get him to face her. To look at her. “Please, look at me—Cole. Cole?”

“I need to. I will feel him grind his bones and the blood will be like flecks of rain, hot and slick. And…” Cole swallowed hard, breathing hard, rage building as the man ran from him. Cole pulled his hands away from Liesel. 

“Cole….you are a spirit. Like Liesel. You haven’t possessed a body. He can’t have killed you.”

Cole stared after the man. “He…Cole. Cole—banging and broken and bleeding, breaking through the skin, ripping into the eyes. He was an apostate—captured so his friends could escape. He loved them. He starved and he died alone and sad and—and I tried to help. I wanted to help. I came through to help but I….I couldn’t….I….I…became him.”

Varric closed his eyes slowly.

Liesel touched Cole’s sleeve. “That’s who your body was? You were a mage named Cole.” She gazed at him.

He looked down at her. “I was him. He became. Me. I am. I….” he looked away. “I need to _kill_ him. I need it. I want to feel his bones _break_ underneath my hands.”

Liesel stared at Cole, seeming almost stunned, like she wasn’t sure what to do. She looked at Varric and Solas. 

“Cole, ultimately, the choice is yours. But you must understand—if you try and accept the rage and you become more human—you likely won’t be able to return to the Fade,” Solas said.

“And if you don’t….you can stay a spirit,” Varric said with a shrug. “We’re your friends, either way.”

Cole looked at Liesel. He searched her face. “You have to become more human. You don’t have a choice.”

Liesel shook her head a little. “The Anchor makes it happen. More and more. I have to become. More. Of what I am.” She took his hands again. “But…you can choose, Cole. You can choose.”

“Will you still be my friend?” Cole asked her gently.

She nodded. “I will. I promise.” 

Their minds touched, him seeking comfort in her presence, like she had in his. He wanted to wrap himself around her, suddenly. They could protect each other. In a way that was more complete than anyone else could. As she became both more real and slipped away….

He could slip away. Or he could follow. 

He stared at her amber-green eyes, like embrium leaves. He looked at her hands, wrapped tight around his own. He had never noticed before how _warm_ they were. He peered at her thumbs, gently touching them with his own. She was so warm.

“Liesel…”

“Whichever you choose,” she said, “…I just want you to be okay. Not be. Not hurt. Not hurt anymore.”

“He would have to become more of a spirit to not hurt anymore,” Solas chimed in.

“But as a human, he can learn how to work through it,” Varric said.

Cole took her hand tightly and walked with her. The elf and the dwarf followed. The Templar was still trying to run. Liesel looked up at her friend.

Their minds touched.

Liesel stepped forward, letting him go and blurring across the path, grabbing the man and wheeling him around to face Cole. “You hurt my friend. You hurt him. And now he’ll decide.”

“Please—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Solas stood on one side of Cole, Varric on the other. 

“You can heal his pain and yours and forgive him,” Solas said quietly.

Varric held out his crossbow silently. 

Cole looked at each of them and then stepped forward, not taking the bow. 

Varric sighed softly, Solas felt a twinge of relief. 

But then the spirit walked up to the man, looming over him. “I hate you. You killed me. You killed the real Cole.”

“I….I’m….I didn’t mean to…I….” The man shook on the ground.

“I wanted to help him. But I couldn’t. They told you it would be nothing. That I was nothing. They clapped you on the shoulder. You didn’t want….” Cole blinked, as if surprised. “…..you didn’t like killing…you beat against the walls but can’t escape….like him.”

“No one helped him,” Liesel said softly.

“No one helped you,” Cole echoed at the man. “Your shame and guilt are suffocating, like a rope biting into flesh, swelling and scratching and ripping.” Cole stared at the man. All of his pain was so harsh and biting. He could take it away, take his own away and banish them. Banish the pain and guilt and shame and be free of all of it. To be light as air and—

_Have no connection to anyone._

Cole looked at Liesel. _If I do, I will never be able to understand her after this._ That would be the trade off. With no guilt, shame or pain—there was also no love, no affection, no need for her to stroke his hair soothingly. No need for her to lean on his shoulder under his hat. No need to have a friend, no need to notice her warmth. Or how Solas faded into the world when he painted. Or how Varric wanted to show him all the different things of the world. To be quieter. 

It would be quieter. 

He looked down at the terrified man again. Feel the extent of pain and rage but also….love, friendship, caring. What if his knives stopped speaking to him? Would he still know how to fight?

He wanted to help. 

He wanted to help _her_. He touched her mind gently and he could feel how she was torn. She had to become more human—but she wanted him to be light and free. She _wanted_ him to stay a spirit. It would be _safer_. It would be less painful for him. He would not _suffer_. But she wanted the choice to be _his_.

Cole looked at the man. “I hate you but they hurt _you_ too. Don’t hurt anyone anymore.” He reached out his palm but then, after a moment, pulled it back, leaving his memory intact. “We have to remember so that we learn.” He turned away from the man.

Liesel’s mouth fell open. So did Solas’. 

Varric hurried up to Cole to touch his elbow. “C’mon, kid. Time to introduce you to lemon cake.”

 

Solas had not realized until that very moment that Liesel didn’t want Cole to become human at all. He walked up to her when Varric led Cole away. “Liesel….”

“I don’t want him to be hurt…he’s hurting….”

“I know. I’m sorry—I was so….certain that you wanted him to follow you. I was wrong. But he made his choice and now you’ll be able to teach him more. You’ll grow and learn about each other, about being human.”

“I don’t want him to be hurt…”

“He has made that choice for himself,” Solas told her gently. 

 

 

 

Liesel felt like she was on a frozen lake, watching Cole as he delved into this—delved into being more human. Like if she moved too suddenly or sharply, she would slip and fall. But if she stayed still—she could only watch. She wasn’t sure how to approach Cole, not sure how he might change. 

The real Cole’s father was violent, mother was dead, may have had a sister somewhere. 

She fretted as Varric showed him many things, just like he’d shown her. 

“I never knew how warm we were.”

Liesel turned away from her balcony, looking into her room. Cole was standing inside. She walked over to him. “Are you all right—“

Cole stepped into her and wrapped his arms around her. “I know you were confused and everything was painful and you don’t want me to suffer. But…but I am learning so much and you…” He searched her face.

“I…I didn’t want you to be hurt…”

“I know but. I can help you if we become human together.” 

She hugged him tightly, nodding against his chest. “I just want you to be okay.”

“I am, I think.”

She looked up. His eyes were still startling and blue. He took off his hat. “I have to cut my hair, I think. I can’t see around it anymore.”

Liesel smiled faintly. “I can’t either. I….I could try to cut it for you?”

“…I would like that.” 

So Cole laid his hat down and Liesel got him a chair to sit in. She looked at his mop of hair a bit cluelessly for a moment and then lifted her scissors. “Um. It’s. Well.”

“Just try,” he urged her.

She snipped very carefully, watching the pieces of him disconnect and fall. “How do I know when it’s enough?”

“When I can see, I think.”

She cut above his eyes, smiling a little when he wrinkled his nose at the stray strands that collected on his cheeks. She brushed them off. She smiled at him. “Your eyes are so blue, Cole.”

“Like falling into the Real sky. Yours are green and dark and gold, like the Fade sky.”

Liesel combed her fingers through his hair. “Cole….I…I want you to be okay. So if anything happens…I…”

“Liesel, I will be all right.”

She hugged him tightly—but he didn’t stay sitting. He stood up to tower over her—she’d never noticed how tall he was before—and hugged her back.

“I don’t want you to suffer,” Liesel said softly.

“You did suffer. You are suffering. You were forced to become more human. I had a choice. And I made it.”

She nodded against him. 

“Your hair is so soft,” Cole said suddenly, drawing back and smiling. “I never noticed.”

Liesel laughed a little, wiping her eyes. “Yours is too.”

His fingers skimmed over her face, curiously examining her like he was seeing her with new eyes. Which he was. Self-awareness, being able to remember things, it changed his outlook on everything around him. There was more happiness in little things, meaning in otherwise confusing ideas. He could look at Liesel’s smile instead of looking into her head. The smile had never really mattered before. It was about what he felt—not what he perceived. 

But now he could see both—he could see her smile and, if he wanted to, he could look into her head.

But he….he didn’t want to. He found he just wanted to look at her smile.

 

 

Morrigan was very interested in this development. She spoke about it with Dorian at length. He seemed to be the only mage around who wasn’t really concerned about her, or suspicious. Vivienne was disdainful and Solas was distant. Dorian didn’t seem to care. 

The witch was glad for that, at least. This group was certainly interesting.


	10. The Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mood Music for this part: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BIMc2t5EbTY
> 
> Game of Thrones season 6 finale piece was amazing. And it perfectly encapsulated the feeling I have been trying to grasp. Which is part of why this took me so long to write.  
> \-------
> 
> The shadow of Corypheus was turning, eyeing her. “You return too late, Wraith. I’ve used your order for what it was worth. Have you come all this way to avenge them?”
> 
> “No,” said the woman. “They were wrong. They should never have entered the Temple. That orb is treacherous. No one should have that power.”  
> \------

Liesel stared up into the night, the blood, the fires. Cullen was fighting. It was all taking place around her but everything felt slow. It was all so slow. The dying was happening. Many were dying. The air was hot and thick and coppery with blood.

The Wardens. The Grey Wardens. The Grey—

Liesel tilted her head, looking up at the stormy sky. “The Grey….”

“Liesel!”

If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear another memory. Something flickering in and out of the world, existing and not existing. Flowing organ music, deep and dark and grey. So many eyes. So many eyes. 

_Liesel!_

She was falling into herself, falling into the Mark, images flickering by and rising up around her. Erimond scrambled back from the Warden Commander. She tried to look around. Cole was here. Cassandra was here. Her mouth moving but no sound was coming out.

_(Liesel!)_

Hawke raced up to them. He was speaking something. He looked right at her. But she couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t hear anything. The man grabbed her palm, turning her hand upward and dragging off her glove and gauntlet. The Mark flashed, burning. It was burning.

Her eyes were streaming at the intensity of it. 

_Do you know what you are?_

The song was everywhere. It was all she could hear. 

_How do you know you came to that body on your own?_

The song, lilting and beautiful. It was like a shroud over her shoulders, a Veil over her face and ears. 

And then Cole was in front of her, looking stricken about something. He grabbed her shoulders, shook her a little. When she didn’t respond, he drew his knives to protect her. And she simply stood in the center of all the fighting at the Warden fortress.

_Who are you?_

_(Liesel?)_

_Who are--_

Someone smashed into her, tackling her to the stone. A blast of fire seared out over them. Cassandra shielded her with her body. “Dorian! Where is Solas!”

There was a burst of fire, light and blood. The dragon screamed into the night—a familiar sound—

But why? 

Why familiar?

Why—

The platform collapsed. 

Did she open the tear? Or was it already there? Winking out at her like a ferret’s eye, glittering and dark. Fire and tingling feeling raced up her skin and she opened her palm and _pulsed_.

Suddenly, there was no sound at all. Cassandra came skidding on her knees next to her. “Liesel!”

_Not my name._

She looked at Cassandra anyway. “Cassandra,” she said softly.

“Where are we!” the warrior demanded.

“We’re in the Fade,” Solas marveled. 

A bright burst of anxiety flooded Cole. “We can’t be here! We can’t be here like this! We can’t!”

“How many times can we fall through the Mark?” Liesel asked.

Solas peered at her curiously. “What do you mean, Liesel?”

“I mean, it’s on my hand but we’re inside of it too. Is it always inside us? Or are we always inside it? The Mark opens the door out and closes them behind us.”

Dorian looked at Hawke, they both looked at Solas. Cassandra pulled Liesel to her feet. 

Cole peered at her. “Liesel? Are you all right?”

“All I could hear was the song,” she said faintly. “The song that was sundered, siphoned, silenced.”

Dorian approached slowly. “Liesel…are you….remembering something?”

“Yes. Maybe. I could only hear the song. Everything else was silent.”

“But it’s not….silent anymore?” Dorian asked.

“No. But now the song is. We’re in the Hearing now.”

Dorian exchanged a look with Solas and Cassandra. Cole stood fretfully next to Liesel, twisting his fingers together.

When the spirit dressed as the Divine appeared, Liesel walked up to her and reached out, skimming fingers along her robes. “Do you know who I was?” Liesel asked her.

“You must find out. In your memories.”

They were fragments at first, sounds that she could feel in her teeth. 

And then the Mark flared and the images came to life around them. A young woman, dressed in black and green, carrying daggers. She slipped in, a shadow. 

Dorian went very still, eyes widening, mouth falling open. 

Cassandra looked startled, shooting her gaze over to Dorian. “Her pin on her cloak,” she said, pointing at the shade of Liesel’s body. 

“Razikale, the god of mysteries. Some still honor the old gods.” Dorian looked at Liesel. “You….you were from Tevinter?”

“She was….” Liesel said softly, staring at the human with her shape. 

“What would a Tevinter be doing at the Conclave?” Cassandra demanded.

“She’s an assassin,” Dorian said softly. “There would have been no record of her.”

“She was supposed to kill the Divine?” Cassandra said.

But the images flexed, changing. The woman sliding through shadows, one with the dark, touching a door and listening. 

_Someone! Help me!_

The girl stepped back, braced herself and kicked the door in. “What’s going—“

And then she stopped cold, as still as everyone else in the Fade became upon seeing the Grey Wardens.

“Son of a bitch,” Hawke scowled. “Wardens—Wardens!”

“Corypheus had taken their minds,” Stroud said instantly.

“She didn’t want to be there,” Liesel said suddenly from Cole’s side. “She…couldn’t. She had to. She knew. That’s why I was there.”

“You or her?” Cassandra asked.

The shadow of Corypheus was turning, eyeing her. “You return too late, Wraith. I’ve used your order for what it was worth. Have you come all this way to avenge them?”

“No,” said the woman. “They were wrong. They should never have entered the Temple. That orb is treacherous. No one should have that power.”

Corypheus simple turned away. “Kill her,” he said, dismissively.

The woman looked at the Divine, meeting her gaze. She gritted her teeth and _pulsed_. The Warden mages reeled back from her. The ability felt strangely familiar—

“She’s trying to control the lyrium in their blood,” Cassandra said softly. “Like a Seeker.”

And then the woman slashed her hand, planting it into the stone. The blood pooled, running and hurrying as if to find some predestined place. A Circle formed. The woman dodged a blast and then summoned a spirit.

Liesel cried out in recognition as a silver shape fluttered into existence behind Corypheus. 

“You bound a spirit of Death? Appropriate for an assassin, I suppose,” the Magister said, turning to cast a disinterested eye over the spirit and the woman.

“Or Change. Or endings and beginnings,” the woman said. She looked at the spirit. “Free the Divine.” And she flashed forward, slamming herself into the Magister.

The spirit turned obediently, flickering forward, siphoning at the power holding the Divine. Corypheus effortlessly turned, slashing claws at the woman, tearing her flesh apart. She slammed back into the wall. 

The bindings weakened, the Divine threw her arm out—sending the orb spinning across the room. The spirit seemed conscious of it when the assassin rolled, grabbing the orb and curling around it. All the pain, all the pain, pain, painpainpainpain—

_I want to die. I can’t die. I can’t die. Help me. I want to die. I can't. I can't_

The spirit went to the woman and touched her—

That was when the orb burst with power, shattering the Conclave into pieces, killing everyone present except two. Corypheus, wrenching the orb from the assassin’s grip.

The spirit, who was bound to obey her master—knowing she wanted to die but knowing she couldn’t die. Not yet. Not yet. Not when there was so much still untold. She must Change something—

Liesel stared at the images. “I tried to change something….I tried to fix it. But she died anyway. And I….became her.”

“Corypheus must have used whatever group she was a part of to help him find the Orb. They likely met the same fate as most others who work with him. She was….trying to stop it,” Dorian said softly. “She was Tevinter. But she was trying to stop it.”

“You were a bound spirit servant,” Solas said. “A spirit of Death and Change. She knew she had no chance of survival, wanted to die—you heard the command but also…knew she didn’t want to. So you took her form, reflected the Anchor, and she died.”

“And you, as a spirit, survived,” Dorian said, staring at Liesel as if he’d never seen her before. 

“If I hadn’t tried to change it, to save her….she would have lived. She would be here and not me,” Liesel stared at the images. “But I touched the Orb and it made me real. And she died instead.” Liesel stared down at hands that didn’t belong to her. “I killed her. And she was the only one left who knew where the orb came from. I ruined everything.”

“You could not have known,” Dorian said, bowing his head. “You tried to help her because you were bound to her. As a servant. You tried to fulfill your purpose. You….” Dorian took a deep breath. “Do you know her name? Or the group she worked with?”

Liesel looked again at the visions before them. She could see the moment the orb burst, everything incinerated in a flash. Wiped out. “Wraiths of Shadow. They’re all dead now.” Liesel walked up to the ghostly images in the air. She knelt in front of the assassin, reaching out as if to try to touch her but her fingers went right through her. “Her name is buried. She kept it a secret from everyone so that they couldn’t take it from her. It was Finna. That was her name. Finna.” Something crushing and painful went through her chest. “I killed her. I tried to help but I killed her.”

A rumbling low laugh echoed around them. “Little spirit of death, a slave to an assassin, and now you know the pain and fear I took from you. You’re nearly human now. Wearing her face. Does that disturb you? Perhaps that can be remedied.”

A swarm of demons flooded towards them, broken bodies and murderous intent. 

“Do you miss your master now? Or do you realize you are a parasite who saw something better and took it. You let her die because you wanted to be free.”

“Liesel,” Dorian said quickly, kneeling beside her. “It wants to unnerve us. It wants to hurt you. We know you didn’t do that. Come on—we should go. We’ll get out of here. But that _thing_ just wants to hurt you. Don’t listen.” Dorian glanced up at Cole and the other spirit crouched down, sliding a hand around her waist and pulling her to her feet. 

Dorian looked down at the lingering image of the Tevinter assassin. The only one who knew and tried to stop it. A Tevinter. Was that a cruel joke? A Tevinter Magister caused all this shit and a Tevinter assassin tried to stop it. If she _had_ lived instead of Liesel, she would be able to tell them so much—

Dorian cut off that train of thought. The poor assassin was gone. Dorian inclined his head to her. _I will make sure you are not forgotten, Finna._

And then they were on the move again. 

Liesel felt like she was moving through mud. Cole stayed next to her as they scoured the area for a way out. When they finally found it and the gargantuan Fear demon guarding it, Stroud cut off Hawke and raced forward to fight, distract it, give them time.

_Do things in the Fade ever really die?_

 

 

And then they were back in the Real. 

Cullen came barreling up the steps to them, grabbing Cassandra. “Are you all right? What happened?”

Cassandra opened her mouth to answer and then closed it. “I….give us a minute, Cullen.”

Cullen examined her disturbed expression. His eyes pressed over the others. 

Cassandra went to Liesel, looking into her eyes. “Liesel—the Wardens—“

“Cannot be trusted. Just like the Templars.”

“If they are exiled—“

“Then they’ll be someone else’s problem?” Liesel said softly. “But we can’t keep them either. Make them all return to Weisshaupt. They should be confined there until a way can be found to keep darkspawn from influencing them.”

Cassandra stared at her strange expression, unusually focused but also sad. She nodded a little. “It will be done, Inquisitor.”

 

 

She felt numb on the return trip to Skyhold. She did as Cassandra asked and wrote down everything she remembered. She saw Cassandra deep in conversation with Dorian, Cullen and Solas whenever they stopped to camp. Cole was sometimes with them. Other nights, he came to her and sat by her side. He could probably feel her guilt, her regret that she had lived and Finna hadn’t. Finna, a Tevinter assassin, a minor blood mage—the most impressive thing she could do was binding Liesel—a minor spirit of Death, of Change. She’d been one rung above slavery and had no one to teach her to use her magic. 

At Skyhold, Liesel went to her chambers and sat on her bed for a long time. She curled up in a little knot on one side. She didn’t move when she heard shifting footsteps. Cole came and sat next to her. He was warm. He smelled like buttered biscuits. Had she ever noticed that before?

He laid down beside her and wrapped an arm around her. She turned over and burrowed into him. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “If Finna had lived instead of me…”

“You did what you could. You tried to protect her. You couldn’t have known, Liesel.”

Her fingers curled into his shirt. “I didn’t have any…of me. Back then. She spoke to me often because she was lonely. But I….I don’t remember. It was all idle things, there was no reason for me to remember. I was bound to her. I was a spirit. I would never be….what I am now. But now I am. She could have helped everyone. But Cassandra got me instead. Because I…because I….tried to help. Without understanding. Understanding is…it’s important. It’s….”

“It makes us human. But back then, you weren’t human,” Cole said.

Liesel looked up at him. And then she grabbed him tightly and embraced him, shaking.


	11. Awkward Humanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because sometimes, its seriously awkward being human. (IE: Addressing sexuality in a non-sexual way)  
> \---
> 
> “Of course,” Leliana said, as if it were obvious. “Everyone has some carnality to them. Some more so than others. It doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it. It doesn’t mean I think of her as anything more than a strange friend. It’s just a biological reaction. She and Cole are otherworldly. They have a fascinating perspective on the things around them. But neither have ever experienced that sort of intensity. To be the one to show it to them is a tantalizing thought. It feels wrong—which only adds to the appeal.”
> 
> “Maker, are we really having this conversation,” Cullen said faintly, dragging a hand down his face.
> 
>  
> 
> \---------------

“Hey, Cricket.”

Liesel turned away from the stained glass windows behind the seat in the great hall. “Hello Varric.”

“How are you feeling, kid?” The dwarf asked, leaning against the sill. Sera was lingering behind him.

“Better,” she said, nodding to herself. “It’s….better now. Cassandra said it was okay that I’m here instead of Finna.”

“Good, Cricket. So—I have a question for you.”

“All right.”

Varric shifted on his feet a little. “I’m just gonna spit this out because the Seeker doesn’t know how to ask. We know you and Cole are friends—best friends—yeah? You two are really close. It’s understandable because you’ve been going through a lot of these changes at the same time. He’s the only one who can really relate. Uh. So. We also know that you two are learning about yourselves and…uh…your. Bodies. So. Uh. Look. Okay, Cricket. Are you and Cole…I mean, have you two…uh.” He glanced at Sera.

The elf huffed. “He wants to know if you and Creepy have kissed or shit like that.”

Liesel stared blankly at her for a moment. “Kissed? No.”

“What about other things? I mean—it’s not anyone’s business but yours, of course, but—uh—we just want to make sure the two of you are…..okay,” Varric said, carefully.

“Because he spends the night with you sometimes,” Sera added.

“You mean sex?” Liesel asked, blinking at them.

“I feel really weird about this conversation,” Varric said, shaking his head at the stone floor. 

“Yeah, sex,” Sera said. “You heard of it?”

“I’ve heard of it,” Liesel answered.

Varric and Sera looked at each other. “But you haven’t done it?” Varric asked slowly.

“No. I’ve hugged Cole. We help ground each other. Sometimes I hold his hand when I feel the pull of the Mark too much. He’s my friend.”

“All right, Cricket. We just…wanted to make sure that…I mean—you’re becoming human. These things might happen eventually. Or come up. And we just realized that no one has really discussed that part of becoming human with either of you.” 

Sera laughed. “Do you even know _how_ to have sex?”

Liesel looked thoughtful at that. “….I’ve seen people do it. From the Fade. But it’s….” She looked at her hands. “I don’t really know how or why people do.”

“Oh, shit,” Sera choked and burst out laughing.

“Buttercup!” Varric tried to sound stern as he fought back a hysterical laugh.

“I am so glad Solas and Dorian went to Creepy to talk about this,” Sera said.

Liesel looked at her curiously and then it seemed to dawn on her, “Oh, because Dorian likes men. And you like women.”

“I don’t want to know how you know that,” Varric said, which only made Sera laugh harder.

“You’ve said before I could always ask questions, right?” Liesel said.

Varric cringed, face turning oatmeal-colored. “Yes,” he said, heroically. 

Liesel appeared to fight down a smile. “It makes you uncomfortable but you would do it anyway. Thank you, Varric.”

The dwarf heaved a sigh of relief.

“Come ask me instead,” Sera told her. “I don’t give a piss.”

“Maybe she should ask Dorian,” Varric said, pointedly raising his eyebrows.

Sera blinked hard and looked sidelong at him. “What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Well, just—you like women,” Varric told her.

“No way! Really! Dorian’s not gonna know what the hell she wants.” 

“Yeah, but…he’s….”

Sera stared at him, narrowing her eyes. “Oh, I see. You assumed that any concerns she might have about sex would only have to do with the man she was with. Ugh, maybe there’s a reason Bianca stays so far away.”

Varric huffed. “All right, all right. I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m sorry.”

The dwarf and the elf looked at the spirit, who was staring at them. Liesel twisted her fingers together. “All right. Well. Thank you,” the sprit said.

“I need a drink now,” Varric said and drug his hand down his face as he turned around to walk away.

Sera lingered a moment. “Hey, though, Liesel—really. You and Creepy—you’re both becoming more human—sometimes you still act like creepy spirits and shit but…you’re…different now. Or something. So, if you have any questions—or discover that you like girls rather than boys—you can come ask me and I won’t do anything weird, I promise.”

Liesel smiled gently. “Thank you, Sera.”

 

 

It was odd but it did give Liesel something to think about. She pondered on it as she walked the halls, touching the walls in careful intervals as she headed into the war room. Leliana was reading a bundle of reports while Cullen was pondering their maps. 

Liesel cupped her elbow in her palm, walking up to the table and looking down at the maps too. 

“Inquisitor,” Cullen greeted. “Everything all right?”

She nodded and then looked up at him. “You all…call me Inquisitor now.”

Leliana glanced up from her reports. “After Adamant, you changed, my lady. It seems more appropriate now.”

“Are we still friends?” Liesel asked them.

That made Leliana smile a little. “Of course, Liesel.” She laid her report down. “We heard about Finna. It now makes sense to me—how you function. You were bound to an assassin for so long that you unconsciously picked up a few things from her.”

“She….didn’t like killing. But she also did like killing,” Liesel said, curiously. “It was…both.”

Cullen paused. “Some…do get like that. Some only feel alive when they kill.”

“It’s…like a sickness.”

“Or an addiction,” Leliana said. “The line between lust and violence is very thin.”

Liesel’s eyes wandered back to the map, thinking about that. “So…some people kill to clear their heads, to focus, to….feel….because they can’t feel things otherwise.”

“Sometimes they can—but nothing is intense enough to satisfy them except killing. Or sex. It depends.”

“So….sex has…inherent violence to it,” Liesel said faintly. Maybe she hadn’t quite understood Varric after all.

Leliana paused, looking at Cullen and then at her. “Sometimes. It depends on the people having it.”

Liesel looked at the spymaster and then at Cullen. Her eyes trailed up his armor to his face. He seemed uncomfortable with her stare. She looked away. “I think maybe I understand better now.”

When she wandered out, Cullen heaved a sigh of relief. “This is really….weird.”

“Yes, it is odd. But she is learning, Commander.”

“She’s….not a child. She’s an adult. But she’s….”

Leliana tittered. “It’s intriguing, Cullen. You don’t need to be ashamed.” 

Cullen looked away awkwardly. 

Leliana laughed. “You really don’t, Cullen. It’s the nature of all beings to be curious and fascinated by what we’ve never had. She has been curious about you since she arrived. But she didn’t quite understand why. I think, perhaps, she is beginning to. She’ll have to learn to cope with it—like all the pining families who contacted us after the Winter Palace.”

Cullen rolled his eyes at her. “She’s more innocent than them. Honestly—she’s like…a little sister or something.”

“Yes, she is more innocent. For now.” Leliana smirked, teasing.

“Ugh, stop it!”

“If she makes you think of sex, Cullen, it just shows that you’re a man with a normal curiosity. The others will likely have similar issues.”

“Do you?” Cullen groused.

“Of course,” Leliana said, as if it were obvious. “Everyone has some carnality to them. Some more so than others. It doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it. It doesn’t mean I think of her as anything more than a strange friend. It’s just a biological reaction. She and Cole are otherworldly. They have a fascinating perspective on the things around them. But neither have ever experienced that sort of intensity. To be the one to show it to them is a tantalizing thought. It feels wrong—which only adds to the appeal.”

“Maker, are we really having this conversation,” Cullen said faintly, dragging a hand down his face.

Leliana just laughed. 

 

 

 

“I think he took it rather well,” Dorian said, chuckling as Varric took a long drink from his mug. “He was curious, of course. Like he is about everything. But between Solas and I—we managed.”

Varric looked over the rim of his mug at Solas. “I wondered how you’d do, Chuckles.”

Solas scowled a little. “Cole is my friend. The least I can do is assist in his….transition.”

Sera burst out laughing.

“Did he seem confused?” Varric asked.

“Perhaps—in the same way a child is confused when you tell him not to touch a stove.”

Varric raised his eyebrows. “So….he….wait, what does that mean?”

Solas struggled for a moment before Dorian started laughing again and swooped in to save him, “He has a healthy curiosity that I would expect from a young man. You know how aggressive he’s becoming—he wants to hit people all the time now when they make him angry.”

“I’ve been helping him with that.”

Sera giggled. “So he asked about the bard, Maryden?”

“Strange, isn’t it? I would have thought he and Liesel would naturally just….sort of…come together,” Dorian said. “But he said he hasn’t done anything with her.”

“She said the same,” Varric threw in.

“They may still,” Solas said, frowning. “It would be best to keep an eye on them.”

“Uh, how do you propose we do that?” Varric asked, incredulous. “They’re not children.”

“It would only distract them if they become embroiled in confusing emotional and physical entanglements,” Solas replied. 

“Well, then we probably should have left them alone. Now that you pissers put the idea in their heads, they probably will now,” Sera told them, rolling her eyes as she took a pull from her ale.

The three men stopped and looked at each other, realizing.

“Shit,” Varric said. “Didn’t think that one through, did we.”

 

 

 

Liesel stared at the wall-length mirror that Josephine had had brought to her room. The Ambassador was having her measured for new clothes – as all her former gear had been confiscated by Dagna for study after they returned from the Fade.

She twisted her fingers in the soft cotton shift that Josephine had put her in. She could see her brown skin through it. 

“Do you like the fabric?”

“Yes. It’s soft. Feels nice.”

“We can twist the dark green with silk and gather it under the chest,” Josephine went on. “It will look lovely.”

“All right,” Liesel told her absently. She knotted her fingers in the extra fabric, seeing how it collapsed inward when she searched for her ribs.

Josephine lingered, as if trying to think of something else to say, but nothing seemed to come to her. 

“You should go say hallo to the Iron Bull.”

Josephine froze. “Uh. Excuse me?”

“Have a drink with the Iron Bull. Get to know him. He wants to see you naked.”

Josephine’s mouth fell open. “I…I….don’t know what you…uh.”

“He won’t hurt you. He doesn’t hurt people that he likes.”

Josephine’s cheeks flushed hot and red. “I. Well. Um. Right. I will. Take my leave. Good day, Inquisitor.”

“Okay,” Liesel replied and picked up a sheath of green silk, examining how the light dappled over it. That was when she saw Cole in the mirror. She perked, dropping the silk and turning around. 

Cole was standing on her balcony, waiting for her to notice him before he entered the room. 

“How long have you been standing there?”

“I was waiting for Josephine to leave.” Cole took off his hat, smooshing his hair away from his eyes. “Did she come to talk to you?”

“No—just for fittings. Wants me to have new clothes. I guess in case the Inquisition throws a party?”

“That would be nice. I like it when they’re happy.”

“Varric and Sera talked to me today about becoming more human. Did they talk to you as well?”

“Solas and Dorian did,” Cole answered. “They…are afraid.”

“They don’t want us to hurt—or to hurt each other.”

Cole stood next to her in the mirror. They reached out, clasping hands at the same moment. “They said a lot of things,” Cole said to the mirror, “about not hurting.”

Liesel looked up at him. “Did you understand some of it?”

“I think so. The Iron Bull wants me to meet a friend of his. He says she can help.”

“Oh!” Liesel’s eyes brightened. “Is it one of our friends?”

“I don’t know. Her name is Candy, he said. And he wants me to meet with her tomorrow.”

“That’s a good idea. The Iron Bull knows people. Maybe she can help.”

“I hope so.”

Both of them were quiet for a moment. Liesel met his eyes in the mirror. “Everything is changing again, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

They looked at each other.

Liesel wrinkled her nose. “You need a bath. And—wait. You don’t have a room. You just wander. You should have a room. I’ll talk to Josephine.”

Cole stared at her. “A room….?”

“To put things in. A bath. And. Things we find outside. Pretty stones and things. We’re more human now. You need a room.”

“All right.” Cole nodded but he looked uncertain. 

Since he didn’t have a room at that moment, Liesel went downstairs right then and spoke to one of the servants. She was a friendly sort, which was why she’d been assigned to the spirit, and immediately went to have hot water brought upstairs. 

Her bath was stone and had hardly been used since they’d come to Skyhold months ago. But now that they were becoming more human—Liesel was starting to notice things. Like when her hair was matted and tangled. Or her skin itched because of dried blood. The bath was shut away in one of the side doors, also home to several large barrels of wine. She turned the spigot to try some but she set the cup aside and promptly forgot it existed when they finished with the hot water. 

Cole was floundering a little. But Liesel took his hat and shoes and urged him into the room. “Go on then. Wash up. Until the dirt and smell is away.”

The spirit watched her shut him inside. He looked at the candles and the steaming water and tried to recall what the Iron Bull and Varric had told him about proper baths. He undressed, a good first step. For probably the first time ever, he examined his own skin.

Cole was paler than Liesel. Very pale. They both had a similar gaunt-eyed look to them, eyes overlarge and vaguely creepy. His fingers were long and calloused and his palms were large. He could probably fit an entire kitten in it. His arms were corded with thick, dense muscle. He was not slender and lean like Solas was. He’d never really noticed how the veins were pronounced under his skin. The body was strong because it was what the real Cole had wanted. A version of himself that wasn’t dangerous—wasn’t a mage—but could protect in other ways. 

When he sat in the hot water, it made his skin tingle. He scrubbed at his face and pawed at the bar of soap the servant had left. It made bubbles. It was slippery and strange. He scrubbed his head with it and almost immediately got soap in his eyes. It stung. That surprised him so much that he dropped the bar and had to splash water on his face to try to get the bubbles out. 

But the hot water was also relaxing. It made his blood run better. It was oddly comforting. There was nothing about it that should have been. It was just water that was a high temperature. It wasn’t—it couldn’t give anything like a spirit could. It was just……warm. 

Strange.

When he got out, he picked up the towel the servant had left and wrapped it over his shoulders. It was very large and long. He stepped out of the little room. 

Liesel was closing the glass doors and pulling some clothes out of a bag. They looked clean and comfortable. He walked over to her.

“I found these clothes. Or, well, the servant did. They were things no one wanted.” 

Cole reached out when she offered him some trousers, letting the towel fall. Liesel stopped, peering at him curiously. She seemed to forget about the trousers after he took them. She reached out and gently touched one of the water droplets on his chest. 

“It’s so different, but not,” Liesel said.

“Why?” asked Cole, looking equally curious.

“I don’t know. I guess men and women are just…different.”

“But only in body. Their minds are mostly the same.”

“Yes, I guess so,” Liesel mused. She reached up, skimming her fingers over his damp skin, touching his collarbones.

So, naturally, he reached out too. His fingers skimmed over her jawline, her throat, her collarbones and then down. Under the cotton shift she was still wearing, he could see the faint dark tint of her skin. How the fabric settled and rippled over her small breasts. Cole tilted his head, examining as he circled one, his thumb brushing over the nipple and stopping when she made a faint, surprised sound. His blue eyes shot up to her face, which looked uncertain, confused. He examined her expression when he did it again, watching her blink, looking startled. 

“What is it?” Cole asked her.

“I….I’m not sure.” She looked down at his hand and then mirrored him, reaching up to touch his nipple gently.

He jerked a little and for a second, they both pulled back from each other, uncertain. Cole hurriedly pulled the trousers on that she’d given him, tying the laces and cinching the belt. When he’d finished and looked back at her—she was still standing there, staring at him.

“Is this…part of being more human?” She asked.

“I think so,” Cole answered. His eyes were drawn down again where her nipples were hard against the cotton shift. “I…..”

Liesel looked away. “Um. Maybe. We should, uh—“ she offered the sack to him. “Here.”

Cole took it and pulled out a shirt, tugging it on. “Should I—“

“Keep them,” she said, pulling her hands back to herself. Cole—his eyes looked strange. How Cassandra looked sometimes when she looked at Hawke—when she thought no one was watching her. 

The two of them stood together, suddenly recognizing the heat that rolled off each other. Maybe _this_ was why the others had been worried? As if they’d had the same thought, they both took a step back. Unconsciously, they seemed to reach with their minds, each carefully touching the other and each finding that the other was just as confused—with strange thoughts and feelings and overwhelmingly intense curiosity fluctuating through both of them. 

Cole took another step back, wrapping his arms around the sack. And then he turned to go, whispering down the stairs.

Liesel took a deep breath, trying to figure out what exactly had just happened. She sat on her bed.

 

 

 

Leliana opened up her latest report, a thick bundle of scroll. She peeled the wax off and smoothed the pages out onto her worktable.

 _Strange Elves in the Wilds_ \- the top sheet was labeled and, under it, a drawing from Caligrapher (he excelled at drawing). It was an elf. An elf with long, rigid ears, turned horizontal; he had high cheekbones and peering eyes, a magnificent bow was in one long-fingered hand. He looked almost startingly like Solas. Except for the tattoo on his face, the markings of Mythal spidered out over his brow. In the margins, Caligrapher had noted some details about the elf’s armor, made of some kind of golden alloy. And none of these strange elves seemed to carry a staff. Her scouts kept a distance from them so they wouldn’t be discovered. She’d sent them out after hearing that Dalish clans were being attacked near the border of the Korcari Wilds. The next page indicated that was because of Corypheus. But they’d sighted several of these strange elves. 

Leliana traced the shape of the elf’s skull. He looked a _lot_ like Solas. And as much as Leliana hated to have to—she might have to talk to Morrigan. After all, the witch used to live in the Wilds. But for the moment, she took out a scrap of parchment and wrote: _Tell everything you can about these elves. Do not risk death. I need to know. – Sister L_

And she got up, going to her birds to send one on its way.


	12. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She is similar to me. She is Change. She is not the one you need be concerned about._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Liesel felt the focus of that thought and looked beside her. Solas was staring at the man, open-mouthed. “He’s just Solas,” she said.
> 
>   _We both know that is not true, little one._

Liesel sat down in front of Saarabas. 

He stared back at her. He was huge, being Qunari and all. She sat quietly on her knees in front of him. He was sitting in front of a fireplace. His hands and feet were unbound. Iron Bull had given him run of the keep. He was watched, of course, by Leliana’s people, but he didn’t actually try to go anywhere. It seemed just being able to be unbound was enough for him. It made him uncomfortable sometimes, Liesel knew. Without any restrictions placed on him, he wasn’t always sure what to do with his limbs. 

“Hello.”

Saarabas nodded to her.

“I want to help you,” Liesel told him.

His thoughts barely rippled and his eyes twitched just a hair. He studied her. 

“Do you know how to write?”

He nodded.

“Just in Qunlat or can you write in common too?”

 _Both_ , he thought loudly. 

When she brightened, he knew she’d heard him. It was strange to be able to communicate so easily.

“Would you like me to speak in your head instead of out loud?”

He glanced around. _It is just us here. You may speak out loud._

“But if The Iron Bull or someone else enters, I’ll switch.” 

He nodded.

“You were sent with The Iron Bull to watch me.”

_Yes._

“What have you found?”

_You are an anomaly. You were bound to a Tevinter. You may be capable of blood magic._

“Have you ever been anything other than what you are now?”

_I was to be military. When my magic came, that was over._

“And then they sewed your mouth shut.”

Saarabas nodded.

“They make you into their weapons.”

Another nod.

“You’ve never known anything else.”

She felt his uncertainty with the question, not sure how to answer it. Liesel stood up. He stayed sitting on the floor, but even then they were almost eye to eye. She touched his close-cropped white hair. He watched her like a hawk, eyes following her hand. He was tensing up.

“Do you want to go home?” 

He froze inside and out. It made a harsh, grating feeling flare inside his head. Crying softly as they held him down, watching them sterilize the hooked needle with flame. A Tamarassan holding his forehead and the other approached with the red hot metal. It sizzled when it touched his lip—but they held him fast, stitching up the seams of his mouth, leaving only one small opening so that he might drink through a straw.

“Iron Bull doesn’t want to go home either.”

Saarabas’ eyes narrowed. 

“You’re supposed to be angry at him for that. But you’re not.”

_He would become Tal-Vashoth._

“And what about you?”

_The Tal-Vashoth are butchers. Animals._

“How many have you met? Maybe they’re not all the same.”

He looked at the fire. _…..I have never met a Tal-Vashoth. Not until I came here._

“Other mercenaries?”

He nodded. His red eyes peered into her.

“Did they butcher anyone?”

The qunari mage’s eyes darkened, looking away. _No. But they have sold the last of themselves._

“I want to call you a different name. Not your title. Is that all right?”

The look he gave her was slightly suspicious but he nodded. 

“Asaara. It means ‘wind’ in Qunlat, right?”

He nodded.

She smiled at him. “You are now, Asaara.”

_Why does it matter?_

“Names can have as little or as much meaning as you want them to. Saarabas seems wrong to me. You are not a thing. And you’re not dangerous.”

_I am._

“But I’m a demon, right? You can’t be much more dangerous than me.”

He looked at her uncertainly. 

She lifted her right hand and got closer. He watched her carefully. Her thumb brushed over the scarred tissue around his mouth and then touched the stitching—

He jerked back.

Her hands pulled back but she didn’t move away. She watched his uncertain red eyes. He wasn’t scared. He had magic. He was bigger than she was. He could protect himself but…but there was no handler here. There was no one to tell him how to react. There were no rules that he could follow so that he could go through the correct motions.

When she didn’t pull away, he eased back into place. His heart was pounding. This time when she reached out, he didn’t move. He was….trembling.

She could feel it. He was shaking inside. _No rules, no agenda, no idea what to do. What was a gentle touch? What was this? Why? Why?_ He was losing his cool composure. She touched the stitching on his mouth, running her fingers over the tough, pliant wire. It was something like fishing line. Like string, but strong. Her hand disappeared to her side, pulling out a dagger.

He started to pull back but she gently placed her free hand on his temple, arresting his movement. She didn’t hold onto him. The touch was gentle but….it still stopped him.

The dagger was a glint of death in front of his eyes but then she turned it. He felt the cold edge against his skin and then—

A strange ripping sound. His hands flew up to his mouth, feeling the shorn edges of the stitches. He stared at her, horrified. 

“Asaara is the wind. When something blocks his way, he makes another route.” She could feel his heart racing, uncertainty and overwhelming fear. It was unknown, it would mark him Tal-Vashoth, wouldn’t it? Would Hissrad put him in cuffs again for this? 

His mouth had been stitched when he was a child. Every few years, it had to be redone until he stopped growing. His lips were heavily scarred. It felt raw and strange for them to be apart. She touched them with a handkerchief. 

All he could do was take deep breaths. His breathing was always limited by what he could force into his nose. Deep breathes were…non-existent. And yet, right now. Right now he could breathe in deeply. It felt strange, heady, like he was dizzy. Having so much air at once. Being able to breathe in as deeply as he could. 

“Mages live here without having their mouths sewn shut. This is my keep. So you can too.”

_Hissrad will not approve. He won’t—_

“This is my keep,” she repeated. “You work for me. You’re not a prisoner or a slave. If he is angry, then I will deal with him. But you won’t be sewn shut again while you’re here.”

He stood up, towering over her. He held out his wrists to her.

“You don’t need to be bound,” she told him, shaking her head.

She felt his confusion and uncertainty. So she reached into her satchel and pulled out a bit of chocolate wrapped in paper. She pressed it into his hands and then turned around and left.

Asaara stared down at the paper and the chocolate. He stared at it for a long, long time until he slowly brought it to his lips. He pushed his tongue out through his ravaged mouth and touched the sweet chocolate. It startled him—how sweet it was. How he put a tiny corner inbetween his lips and let it melt there. 

 

 

 

When Liesel wandered up to her quarters, she found Cole there. He was sitting on her couch, rocking back and forth gently. Something was strange, unsettled in his head.

“Cole?”

He looked at her and then back at the floor.

“Cole…are you okay?” Liesel went to him, sitting beside him.

“I. Met. The Iron Bull’s friend today.”

“Oh. Candy? Did she teach you anything?”

Cole stopped rocking, staring at his knees. “….yes. A few. Very. Strange things. I.”

“Like what?”

“Her name wasn’t Candy at all. Her name was Marguerite. And she…was. Very kind. But….odd. The Iron Bull told her I was…a spirit who was now human. She wasn’t scared at all. I felt it in her head. She was more scared of drunks. She thought I was. Kind.”

“That’s….good?” Liesel asked cautiously.

“Yes but…” Cole reached over and touched her arm. 

She felt him open up to her so she could see—

_We will go slow, lovely. You are so sweet._

_Am I?_

_Yes. You haven’t tried to hurt me at all._

_Why would I hurt you?_

_Exactly. Now. Relax._

_What are you—_

_She touched him. His jaw, his ears. How gently she removed his hat and combed her fingers through his hair. How she kept her eyes on him, always shifting so that she could keep his gaze as her hands slid down to his trousers, untying the laces and reaching inside—_

_He breathed in sharply._

Liesel jerked back from the thoughts. “Did she hurt you?”

“No,” Cole said quietly. “She didn’t. It was. Different. Felt different than anything else. Of all the things I’ve felt since I came out of the Fade. That was…very different. But…strange. But….not. I’m. I’m not sure how to…” Cole looked at his hands.

Liesel could feel his uncertainty, anxiety. She touched his hand but…he pulled back.

He looked at her. His eyes seemed…different. “I…I’m not sure how to…what it means. She told me her name after—Marguerite. She wants to see me again.”

Liesel stared at him, confused. He’d never pulled away from her touch before.

“I felt like I needed to tell you,” Cole said softly. 

“All right…” she said slowly, still not exactly certain she understood.

Cole stared at her for another moment and then he got up. He shook himself and left.

Liesel watched him disappear. She closed herself in the closet. Somewhere small and dark, where she could feel the walls around her. 

 

 

 

When they went out to the Storm Coast, Cole did not come with them. No one else was quite certain what had happened but it was apparent that _something_ had. Varric and Iron Bull were arguing about it when Liesel came out of her tent.

“You should have spoken to the rest of us, Tiny. I didn’t know you were serious. That—doing that might have been too soon. And now he and Cricket—something weird has happened between them.”

“They’re becoming more human, Varric. They’ll have to learn.”

“Yeah—sure—but was _now_ really the best time?”

“There is no best time.”

Liesel observed them until they looked at her and then she said, “I’m going to go look at things. There’s a cave here that sings.”

“I will come with you,” Solas volunteered

Dorian and Sera got up as well. 

The cave in question had been opened up by their people. It was full of spires of red lyrium. It sang its song around them. She touched the stone gently, skimming her fingers along the smooth surface. 

“Liesel?” Solas asked.

“Don’t listen to its song,” she said softly. “It’s harder to ignore it now. But I’m not sure why.”

And then she felt something.

An odd twinge.

Liesel turned to look deeper into the caves. She headed into them.

“Liesel?” Dorian asked. “Are you all right?”

“There’s something here.” She kept walking, touching dwarven walls and peering everywhere like she was playing a game of Hot-or-Cold.

Sera notched an arrow to her bow but didn’t pull it up to draw yet, just following. She fretted with the string.

“You seem agitated, Sera,” Solas mentioned.

“I’m with you, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Venatori,” Dorian murmured. “But they’re….”

They were already dead. The bodies had been brutally mangled, broken bones and veins and skulls. Eyes dripping from crippled sockets and brains splattering the stone. 

“Our people did not come in this far. They were only to open the caves,” Dorian said. “Surely the spiders couldn’t have done this?”

Farther in, they found more bodies, twisted up. Some were scorched. Dorian knelt down to one, gently touching a cloak. “These are burns from magic.”

“Looks like someone else was interested in a little justice, eh?” Sera mused, chuckling.

Liesel wandered over to a door. Here. Here is where it felt strongest. What was it? She gently pushed it open.

“Don’t come any closer!” A man was there. He was ragged-looking, with blond hair and amber eyes. He had rough stubble on his face and his clothes were dirty. 

Liesel just looked at him. “Hello.”

“Who are you! Get out of here!” He commanded.

Liesel tilted her head. “Is there someone else in there with you?” She peered at the wild-looking man. _Hello._

The response was immediate and powerful, shaking her inside her head. _Little one._

The man froze, staring at her. “How…”

_She is similar to me. She is Change. She is not the one you need be concerned about._

Liesel felt the focus of that thought and looked beside her. Solas was staring at the man, open-mouthed. “He’s just Solas,” she said.

_We both know that is not true, little one._

“You’re….you’re different,” said the man. “You’re...not possessed but….you’re just…a spirit?”

“Did you kill all those Venatori?” Dorian asked, keeping a sharp eye on the man. He’d likely been quite handsome when he was clean and not looking like he'd been run over by fifteen wagons full of maleficarum.

“Yes,” he breathed, as if exhausted at the thought of it. “I had to. I had to…hide. Had to…”

“Who are you?” Solas said stiffly, putting a light hand at Liesel’s back, ready to jerk her away if necessary.

“Stephen,” said the man.

 _Who is in here with you?_ Liesel touched the man’s mind, coming deeper into the room.

The man backed away. _Don’t. You can’t. He’ll hurt you._

“Do you need help?” Liesel asked out loud, going right up to the man.

Solas and Dorian and Sera all exchanged looks and entered the room as well. They stayed by the door, watching the strange man.

“He’s possessed,” Dorian said softly.

“He still has some fragments of control,” Solas agreed. “But yes, he is deep into possession.”

“You can’t help me!” Stephen said, his back touching the wall. “I’m…it’s too late for me.”

“Why?” Liesel asked. She reached out, touching his mangled jacket. It had a mantle on it of fur and feathers. It had likely been very pretty once. Now it was molted and soggy with mold and filth. 

“I can’t control him anymore,” the man said. “Please—leave me.”

“You need help,” Liesel said softly, running her fingers through the ragged, filthy fur. 

“I’ll hurt you,” the man insisted. _He’ll hurt you, little bird._

 _You should come with us. We can help._ She reached up, touching his jaw and looking into his eyes. 

They flashed silver. _Get **out** , little one._

Solas suddenly grabbed her, pulling her away from the man. 

“What are you doing? Solas—”

“Who are you?” Solas demanded, flipping his staff to point at the man. “I saw your eyes. Who are you really?”

“Now, now, everyone calm down,” Dorian said, lifting a gentle hand. “The man is obviously a little…scattered. Perhaps we can help.”

“No,” Solas said, tone turning dark. “No. He’s something else.”

“We can help him though. I know we can,” Liesel said.

The man rocked back and forth. “You can’t. It’s over for me. They should have killed me. I wish they had.”

 _Who should have killed you?_ Liesel asked the strange presence inside the man.

_Sentiment, little one. He was weak. And so were his friends._

“We can’t just leave him here,” Dorian said. 

“Says who?” Sera groused. "He wants to die--let's do him the favor."

Liesel ducked around Solas’ arm and approached the man again. She gently touched his hand. “Come with us.”

The man’s red-rimmed eyes pleaded with her, trying to shake his head. But then he took a step towards her.

 _You will regret this, little one,_ said the presence, booming in her head.

“There are ways we can help,” Dorian said. “Though no one’s going to like it, I imagine.”

“Blood magic?” Solas sighed. 

The man paused. “Wait…you….you can?”

“Come with us,” Liesel told him. She took his hand and turned to lead him out of the room.

He followed, docile and shaking. He was very afraid. Even Sera could feel that. His fear was almost tangible. Whatever was inside of him, it was driving him mad. 

“How long have you been in there?” Liesel asked, looking at the man but clearly directing the question to the odd presence in his head.

_Long enough, little one. You spent time as a slave to a Tevinter. You know the injustices I seek to correct._

_Through this man?_

_Yes._

“Please stop talking to him,” the man fretted. “Please—he’s…he’ll hurt you. He doesn’t like you.”

Dorian walked on the man’s other side, watching him. He felt Solas walking behind the strange man, glowering and dark. Together, they made their way back to camp.

A scout called out to them as they approached. It was full into night by then, a fine drizzle misting over the camp. 

“We found someone in the caves,” Liesel said in greeting as Varric stood up beside the fire. “He killed lots of Venatori. His name is—“

“Blondie...” Varric said, faintly. All the color drained from his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last few weeks have been really hectic. My brother lost four of his friends in the Orlando massacre, my sister tried to kill herself and then I lost my job. All in June. I've had a really hard time focusing on things. So that's why there was the delay. I'm still working through some things and trying to find another job and trying to gather enough goats to sacrifice to whatever god I pissed off. So please bear with me while I do this. Sometimes I can write to work through feelings. Sometimes I can't. But I miss Liesel and want to get back to her.


	13. Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beware dubious consent: Vengeace/Liesel  
> \------------------
> 
> “Liesel!” Cullen was turning her over. He examined her glazed eyes. “Liesel!” He said again, louder.
> 
> “What did you do!” Cassandra demanded, glaring at Anders.
> 
> “I told her not to listen. I told you—he will try to manipulate all of you. Everyone. I can’t control him anymore. I was alone and I fell asleep. Then he took over. He reached for her, drew her down here.” Anders rocked back and forth. “Can’t you please kill me!” He begged them. “Please! Just kill me! I won’t be able to stop him!”
> 
>  
> 
> \------------------

“I should _shoot_ you,” Varric growled, teeth gritted as he hefted Bianca at Anders.

The man looked down. “Yes, you should. You…I shouldn’t have run.”

“Lot of good that does now!” Varric snapped. “Are you happy, Blondie? With all the chaos and death you’ve caused?”

“I thought I was doing the right thing…”

“Best villains always fucking do, don’t they?” Varric snarled. “What are you doing out here? Letting that spirit of Justice run you around?”

“Ah, so that’s what I felt,” Solas said softly.

“Ha, I can’t decide if you and Blondie would hate each other or get along, Chuckles. You haven’t betrayed anyone yet, right—so at least there’s that.”

“There were problems at every level. That was just…the breaking point. I…I removed any chance of compromise.”

“And you made Hawke choose between sparing you and inciting war with Starkhaven. Nice fucking job, Blondie.”

“He should have killed me…”

“You should have killed yourself like any decent terrorist.”

“Varric,” Iron Bull said softly, standing behind the dwarf. “Maybe put the crossbow down. Guy looks like he’s been through hell.”

“It’s less than he deserves.” He shook his head. “Of all the times for you to crawl out of whatever hole you were in—Hawke is still at Skyhold. Shit. And now we’ll _have_ to take you with us. So you can hurt him all over again. Thanks, asshole.”

_The dwarf has cause to be angry, little one. But his vengeance will consume him. Perhaps he can be swayed from killing us?_

Liesel looked at Anders, meeting his eyes. _You made Anders do something bad?_

_I gave Kirkwall the justice it deserved. I have started Thedas on a greater path._

“No!” Varric was suddenly barging between them, shoving Anders back. “No—I dunno what you’re saying but I know he’s talking to her in her head. She always tilts her head when she’s listening. Leave her alone. Don’t talk to her. Don’t try to manipulate her or I’ll put one of these exploding bolts in your face.”

“Hot piss and vinegar,” Sera said, lifting her eyebrows. “Didn’t know Varric could get all rawr like this.”

“We should return to Skyhold,” Solas suggested, studying this man, Anders, carefully.

Varric swore softly. “Then he should be bound and gagged. You can’t trust anything he says. He lied to Hawke, pretended to care about him—and then betrayed all of us.”

Anders looked at his boots, starting to rock back and forth a little.

“Can he change?” Liesel asked softly. The human looked utterly pitiful.

“It’s too late for that. He blew up a chantry. Hundreds of innocent people died because of this son of a bitch. And he sparked the mage rebellion and the fall of the Circles. He’s the reason we had to flee Kirkwall. He’s the reason that everyone is _gone_. Do you even realize how much fucking blood is on your hands? Do you _know_? Can you even _guess_ , Anders?”

“Oh shit,” Sera muttered. “He switched to the real name.”

Iron Bull stepped between the dwarf and the human mage. “All right. Varric, take the boss and ride ahead of us. Dorian, Sera, Solas and I will take this guy to Skyhold.”

“One toe out of line, Tiny—and you better kill him. All he needs is an inch. He’ll charm the fuck out of you and then betray you. Buttercup, stay at his back and keep an arrow in mind between his ears.” Varric whipped around. “Cricket, c’mon.”

Liesel hesitated, looking at the ragged man.

_You should ride with me, little one. I can tell you what truly occurred._

“Don’t listen,” Anders choked out, shaking as he looked at Liesel. “Don’t. Go with Varric. Go with him.” 

Solas put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Go, Liesel. We will watch him. He won’t be harmed unless he tries to hurt someone.”

The Inquisitor went to Varric. They mounted their horses together and left the camp for Skyhold.

 

 

 

When they arrived, Varric left her at the stables to go find Hawke. Liesel wandered into the barn. She did so carefully, as this was where Blackwall liked to haunt. The horses whickered softly at her presence and she brushed them down before leading them to water and oats and soft, clean hay. She listened absently to their horse-thoughts until Cassandra’s horse leaned over and nibbled on her cloak until she hugged his giant head. His horse-skin was bristly and warm and he snorted at her. 

Blackwall was at the end of the barn. He glanced at her but did not get up to chase her away. He’d been pretty thoroughly avoiding her since their conversation in the tavern. She wanted to speak to Blackwall but she was afraid to nudge him again too soon. His eyes were red-rimmed a lot lately and the smell of alcohol lingered on his clothes.

She wondered if Varric was going to be angry with her for finding that man, Anders. She’d felt Justice inside of him—she hadn’t known who his human was. Poor Varric. And Justice’s concern about Solas. What could Solas do to him? Why Solas specifically?

She wished she could talk to Cole. Ached to talk to Cole. But going to find him was somehow an even worse thought. He was avoiding her too. He’d never pulled away from her touch before.

She looked down the length of the huge barn where Blackwall was carving something. _Why do I make people so sad?_

She left the barn, wandering the keep. Maybe it was her punishment for becoming more human? For taking Finna’s body. Poor Finna. She’d tried to save her and doomed her instead. She felt a bright burst of anxiety that she knew was Hawke somewhere inside the castle. Vivienne did not trust her. Dorian asked Cole lots of questions about being a spirit with a body but he had never asked her. Perhaps because she was the Inquisitor. Or maybe something else…

What if none of them were actually her friends? Was that her punishment for stealing Finna? It made her think of Envy suddenly. 

_You don’t know who your friends are._

What did it even mean to have friends? Was it like having a family? She’d never had a family. Was it different? What if becoming more human was a mistake? She turned her palm over, stopping on the battlements and staring at the green mark. When she put it to her ear, she heard a terrible wailing song. 

_I can’t change anymore…_

She stared down at her glowing palm. _I want to run away. I want to go back to the Fade. I want to Change again…_

But it was too late. The Mark shackled her to a physical body. A body that did not belong to her with a Mark that did not belong to her in clothes and shoes and a keep that did not belong to her. She did not belong here. She did not belong anywhere. Not even with Cole, now. Whatever her friend had experienced with Marguerite had such a stark impact on him that it had changed their friendship. She had no idea what to do about that. Was the Iron Bull better friends with Cole? Is that why he had helped him and not her? And if so, why? Had she angered the qunari in some way?

Justice seemed older than her in some way. He’d been with his human longer. Maybe Justice could tell her.

Liesel ended up back in her quarters. Pipes had been installed while they were gone and so she pumped up hot water for a bath. 

When the horn sounded, heralding the return of Inquisition forces, she went back to the battlements. She’d found the original clothing she’d been discovered in. Woolen shirt that was still too big, trousers and a skirt wrapped around her hips. She could feel the snow around her toes. It was sharp and rather biting. 

Hawke was heading down to the main gates—or started to—when they opened and Solas appeared, leading the others, he slowed to a stop. Liesel felt Hawke’s intense anxiety, sadness at seeing his old friend. He looked much the same as when she’d left them on the Storm Coast. Anders was bound and gagged, walking beside Sera’s horse with a rope connecting him to her saddle. The elf hopped down as Cassandra and Cullen appeared. The commander nodded and took the rope, leading the bound mage to the dungeons. 

Liesel twisted her sweater in her fingers. If only she hadn’t felt him—the poor man. Now he was locked up for being too similar to her but not being on the right team.

_Little one._

She tensed, feeling Justice already reaching for her, touching at her mind. She felt helpless to it, intensely curious and also guilty as she stood on the snow-covered battlements. Cullen passed her in silence a few minutes later. She looked at him…but he did not look at her. He looked tired and drawn again. 

“Commander’s looking rough today. Hear they got the man who blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall, Inquisitor,” said one of the guards quietly. Her name was Ritner. She was a Templar.

Liesel looked at her. “He doesn’t take lyrium anymore.”

Ritner froze. “….what?”

“He’s trying to break the hold on him. You should help him if you can.” Liesel walked away. She headed down to the icy grass and dirt, walking across the grounds to the dungeon doors. 

It opened as she approached, Varric and Hawke came out.

“Not now, Cricket,” Varric said, waving a hand at her in dismissal and walking passed her with Hawke before she could utter a word.

She watched the two of them walk away, fretting with her shirt hem again.

And then she went to the door and entered.

 

 

 

The dungeons were quiet and cold. She went down the stairs, where the guard perked at her presence. “Milady Inquisitor.”

“Go get something to eat,” Liesel told him. She waited for him to go before she approached Anders in his cell.

The man looked miserable, his beard was matted and gnarled. His clothes were much the same. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly. “Justice isn’t justice anymore. All of my anger corrupted him. Do you understand? He is Vengeance now. You should stay away.”

_You have questions, little one._

“Don’t,” Anders said quietly, shaking his head. “Don’t listen to him.”

“You’re cold,” Liesel said instead, touching the iron bars of his cell. 

Anders was curled up in a tight ball in one corner. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I can help. Please. I can. I can change that. I can…”

_You have been denied your purpose, little one. You can no longer change anything._

“The Mark is making me human,” she said softly. 

_You’re a demon._

“Liesel,” Anders said, voice breaking. “Don’t listen to him.”

She twisted her fingers together. “I’ll get you a blanket.” She hurried to the guardsroom, pulling a stack of blankets off a shelf and then hurrying back. She pushed them through the bars one at a time. Far more than one man needed but she couldn't seem to help it. “Please. Please use them?”

Anders took a long moment before he finally moved, pulling the blankets to himself. 

“We can help you. I can help you. I promise. You shouldn’t hurt anymore. I didn’t know who you were when I found you. I felt you. You were sad. And I thought we could help. But now I think Varric wants you to die.”

_But you don’t have anyone to talk to, little one. No one you can ask questions of and get real answers. Except for me._

“I deserve to die,” said Anders.

“You meant to help people. You were…denied your purpose. You’re a demon, like me. But that doesn’t mean you’re….bad.”

Anders looked at her and shook his head. 

_Are you so sure, little one?_

Liesel looked down. _They would kill me if I was bad._

_They can’t. You’re the only one who can close rifts._

“Stop,” Anders said sharply. “Don’t tell her things like that!” 

_Little one, we might both be free if you--_

“Liesel!”

The Inquisitor jumped a little, turning around.

Solas was standing by the door, watching her closely. “What are you doing in here?”

“He was cold….” she said softly.

“Come away.” He eyed Anders.

She hesitated, looking back at Anders in his cell. 

_You don’t have to listen to them, little one. You don’t have to listen to any of them._

“Go,” Anders urged her softly. “Don’t come back down here to talk to Justice.”

“But I—“

“I know you want to help but Justice is dangerous.”

Liesel knelt down and reached through the bars. She gently touched Anders’ hair. “We’ll help you, Anders.”

_Dream, little one. Dream of what they won’t tell you._

Liesel frowned. _What do you mean? I should—_

Solas grabbed her suddenly, jerking her to her feet and pulling her away. “Go upstairs,” he commanded.

Liesel looked up at the elf. 

Solas glanced back. “Now,” he said, more gently. “And find your shoes, please.”

Liesel sighed. Why couldn’t anyone ever let go of her stupid shoes? She glanced one more time at Anders and then headed out of the dungeon.

But she touched Solas’ mind as gently as she could.

_Do you fear she’ll end up like you, Pride?_

_Why were you trapped outside the Fade?_

_Would not Wisdom know?_

And then both of them seemed to feel her, Solas’ attention shifted and he slammed up all his barriers, smashing her out of his head.

It made her sick, dizzy. She left him, left them both, staggering up the stairs and out into the starry, cold night.

Morrigan found her the next morning in the garden, curled up under a rose bush. She sent a scout to go get the spymaster. While she waited, the witch knelt down to her, gently brushing her hair away from her face. She gently touched her mind, feeling all the intense confusion and budding awareness of anger and having choices and independence and a wrenching, dark loneliness that she didn’t know how to deal with. 

“Ah, Morrigan.”

Morrigan looked up, standing and inclining her head to her. “Leliana.”

“Do you suspect she was here all night?”

Morrigan glanced down at the girl. “Perhaps. I only found her here. I did not place her here.” The witch stepped back to let Leliana kneel by the girl. “The girl’s fate is bound up in ours, spymaster. It may do someone good to actually attempt to know her mind.”

Leliana looked up at her, then stood. “What do you mean?”

“Before you simply passed off any odd behavior as her being a spirit. It might be beneficial to start reacting as if she were human. I’ve touched her mind. She is riddled with confusion and frustration but she does not know what to do about it.”

Leliana sighed softly. “I wish Wynne were here. She was better at this sort of thing.”

Morrigan smiled a little, snorting softly. “Yes. She might have been able to help. As it stands, the demon inside the one that was brought back here has a far reach. He is dangerous to everyone but to her and the one called Cole, especially so.”

Leliana hesitated. “….is there…a way to get rid of him?"

“Most would simply kill the host.”

“They could have done that on the Storm Coast. Liesel did not want them to.”

“Then yes, I know of ways. The Tevinter mage, Dorian, knows of blood magic that will enable him to send someone into the Fade to kill this demon of Vengeance. But it will require a life.”

“And you know another way?” Leliana surmised from her tone.

Morrigan nodded. “It can also be done with enough lyrium, of course--as you might recall when we saved the Arl of Redcliffe, his son and his wife. It would behoove you to begin to gather a great deal of lyrium if you truly wish to save that man.”

“I don’t,” Leliana scowled. “But she does. I suppose that is enough. We will do so.” Leliana started to kneel down again and then stopped. “I….thank you, Morrigan. You are…different than when we met last.”

“Times change, Leliana. People change. You yourself are much more ruthless than I recall. As Cullen is…less insane than I remember.”

Leliana fought back a laugh. “I have missed your dark sense of humor. Just a little.”

The two women stood in silence for a moment before Leliana spoke again, “I know you are here to assist with Corypheus. But I have some questions that I hoped you could answer, when it is convenient for you.”

“What are the nature of these questions?”

“Not personal. Mostly about the ancient elves.”

“That, I can do,” Morrigan said, nodding graciously to her.

“Thank you.” She knelt again and gently shook Liesel. 

The spirit startled, grabbing into the dirt and looking around like she was dizzy.

“Liesel, are you all right?”

“I…I think I…I had a dream….” Liesel said softly, shaking. 

“You are more human now,” Morrigan said quietly. “It is expected that you might dream.”

Liesel screwed her eyes shut against the sunlight. “My head hurts. How do I…how do I make it stop?”

“Perhaps, when you clean up and eat something, Liesel, you might come back and speak to me. I believe I can help you.”

Leliana scooped an arm around Liesel and helped the spirit to her feet. She looked at Morrigan for a long moment. “I…thank you, Morrigan.”

 

 

 

“What did you dream about?” Leliana asked her gently as she helped the spirit up the stairs to her room.

“The things no one will tell me. Why Cole is….gone…” her voice cracked a little. “Why everyone helps him and not me.”

“What do you mean?”

“They care too much. They think I am innocent. Too innocent to tell the truth to. I’m not….I need to know. I need to know things. I….”

Leliana looked at the floor, helping her sit on her bed. Her feet were scratched from rose thorns. “You’re right. I….I’m sorry. I think we all were caught up in the….innocence of what you were in the middle of all this death and war.”

“I can’t be that anymore….the Mark won’t let me,” Liesel shuddered, scrubbing at her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Leliana said gently. “We…I will take over your education after we deal with Anders.”

“Are you going to have him killed?” Liesel asked.

“....Morrigan believes that she knows a way to help. As does Dorian. We will…try to save him. I promise.”

Liesel nodded, rocking back and forth. “He needs to be saved.”

Leliana studied her. “Is it because he is possessed that you want to save him?”

Liesel shook her head. “He’s human. The spirit isn’t. It turned sick. I’m human but if I turn sick inside like him….or if I ever become a spirit again and I try to possess someone….you have to kill me. Cullen or Cassandra has to kill me. But he has a chance to live. He has….I know what spirits do to your insides. They crawl around and whisper. It’s not his fault. It’s…it’s….”

“He made his choices, Liesel…”

“Justice is strong. He is very strong. It’s so easy to fall into the trap of pushing the limit as far as you can and think you’re doing what’s right. But Justice wanted what was right too. He was corrupted by Anders. It wasn’t intentional but it happened. Justice is now Vengeance. He’s sick inside. He should be free to return to the Deep Fade. To the Void.”

“All right…we will do something,” Leliana said. “Clean up for now. I’ll have food sent up, all right.”

 

 

 

Anders sat across from her. That was strange. He was still in his cell. Or he should have been. But he wasn’t. He was sitting across the room from her. Liesel found herself sitting on her bed, peering at him curiously. 

He was perusing her bookshelves. “You have an interesting collection,” he said. His voice sounded different.

Liesel stood up. “….Justice?”

Anders’ body turned. His eyes were glowing silver. “Yes, little one. Do you know why demons seek to possess mortals?”

“….because they….they want to feel things.”

“Correct. You and the boy, Compassion, are not so different from myself. And many others who possessed bodies. Anders is a willing participant, which makes him more unusual than most.” He placed a book down and walked over, crossing her room to the foot of her bed where she was standing.

Liesel looked up at him.

“I have experienced many things in this body, allowing Anders my insight and power in exchange for him serving my purpose. Justice. But you were an aspect of change.” He reached up, touching her face. “You stole a body by accident and now the Anchor forces you to become human. There could be more for you, if you so choose.”

Liesel watched his fingers as he touched her cheekbone. “What do you mean?”

“Instead of letting them separate me from Anders, you might allow me to come into _you_ instead. Free Anders and I grant you my purpose. It seems we would both benefit from that.”

Liesel took a step back. “I…I don’t know if…”

“I can answer your questions,” he said, skimming his fingers along her ear and tracing down her throat.

The back of her neck prickled and she swallowed hard. It felt strange, tingly. 

“I do not want to return to the Deep Fade. I know you are planning to attempt to separate me from Anders. I will die, you know. Are you truly all right with that? Dying for his anger? For his mistakes?”

“Justice…I….Anders seems like…”

“A good man? Hawke thought much the same.” He threaded his fingers into her dark brown hair. “I was good. I was Justice. He convinced me to enter his mind to be the strong arm that I could not be as a spirit. But he was too full of anger. He festered and I rotted.” 

Justice stepped into her, his other hand sliding down her hip and pulling her to him. “I rotted because of him, turning sick and angry. Anders wants death. He no longer cares about justice. But I do. You know that whether a spirit is a demon is simply a matter of perspective. I can be turned to peace again. But only with the right mind.”

“I…but I haven’t been human for very long. I…if you possessed me…”

“You have only a little anger in you. All mortals do. Compassion turns more human and as he does, his anger grows. You didn’t want him to become human. You wanted him to stay pure. He denied you.”

“He chose for himself.” Liesel placed a hand on his shirt, trying to gently push him away.

He did not move, hand sliding from her hip to her waist, pressing the small of her back. “Or perhaps he thought you would understand each other better. But now he does not need you. No one needs you.” Justice leaned down, nose skimming the edge of her ear. “Except me. I can give you your purpose back.”

She shuddered, a strange feeling welling up in her belly that was difficult to describe. 

“You are young, little one. I can make you powerful. Together we could right all these wrongs. With your Anchor and my knowledge…we could do amazing things…” His hand slid gently under the hem of her shirt, moving slowly up her back. She shuddered again and tried to pull away. Justice held her firmly in place. “Do you wish to know what they are hiding?”

Liesel paused and looked up at him. “I’m….not sure. I just….I just want to do the right thing. I want to help. I want to…make everything go away so I can get rid of this Anchor.”

“I can help you. You must know by now that the Anchor came from the elf’s orb of power. He calls himself Pride. Solas. There is more to him than what he seems. You know this?”

“Y-yes…I saw it in his head.”

“Then why do you wait? He has committed atrocities against those who trusted him. Even now, he halfway works against you, biding his time until he can take the Anchor back.”

“I—he just needs time to change,” Liesel said softly.

“And how long will you give him before he turns sick and becomes a demon?” His fingers moved under her shirt, sliding to her front and beginning to uncouple the buttons. “You will not be able to outmatch him on your own. You will need strength when the time comes. Or he will kill you and everyone else.” His palm slid over her breast.

Liesel stiffened. His thumb slid against the nipple, feeling it harden. Her breath caught in her throat.

“I can teach you what you need to know. Not what these idealistic fools prattle at you. If you allow me to take possession instead of killing me when they send you into the Fade….we could defeat Corypheus easily. You won’t turn sick. You’re not weak like Anders is now. He is entrenched in madness. You are not.” 

Liesel screwed her eyes shut, shaking a little. He pushed her shirt off her shoulders and leaned down, mouth tracing her brown skin, skimming over her throat. She couldn’t seem to quell the soft sound that escaped her. 

“With you, I would not be Vengeance any longer. I could be Justice again. You could change me back. You could save me…” he murmured into her ear. One hand stayed on her breast, gently massaging the sensitive peak. The other slid down her abdomen, fingers moving beneath the hem of her trousers. 

She jerked when he touched her. Touched her directly. All her senses seemed to blank out, suddenly only aware of his fingers, gently shifting between her thighs.

“This is what they are afraid for you to know. Shall you be like a child forever? Or will you become a woman?”

Her fingers grabbed tightly into his clothes to keep her feet, trembling all over. She was slick. His fingers moved over her easily. “It….feels strange….” She managed, taking in a gasp of air.

“You could belong to _me_. An agent of change, of justice. You could return to the Fade or be human. With your Anchor—we would truly be what I was meant to be.“ He kissed her jaw, and then captured her mouth as he pressed against her.

She gasped against him, crying out softly and shaking apart. She was aware of nothing else except that feeling. Like she was falling into the sky. Like her whole body was weightless, lifting above herself, out of herself and then slowly sinking back down. 

“There is so much I could teach—“

The Anchor flashed, burning—and everything collapsed. 

 

 

Her eyes opened. She was lying on stone, cheek pressed against it. It was cold but her face was feverishly hot. Her clothes were sticking to her with sweat. 

“Liesel!” Cullen was turning her over. He examined her glazed eyes. “Liesel!” He said again, louder.

“What did you do!” Cassandra demanded, glaring at Anders, who was still inside of his cell about ten feet from her.

“I told her not to listen. I told you—he will try to manipulate all of you. Everyone. I can’t control him anymore. I was alone and I fell asleep. Then he took over. He reached for her, drew her down here.” Anders rocked back and forth. “Can’t you please kill me!” He begged them. “Please! Just kill me! I won’t be able to stop him!”

Cullen scooped Liesel up. She was limp in his arms, eyes vacant and dilated. He glared at Anders but spoke to Cassandra. “I’ll take her with me. If he can call to her that strongly—she should not be left alone.” He turned around like a bear, stalking out of the dungeon.

Solas stood beside Cole, hands outstretched. As a Dreamer, Solas could enter the Fade and the dreams of others at will. When Cole felt the disruption in the Fade, he had come to Solas. Now, the other spirit was standing next to him, looking angry, fists clenching around the grip of his knives. 

"He hurts her. He's twisted inside. We should kill him," Cole said darkly.

“Seeker,” Solas said stonily. “If we truly intent to try to save him—we should do it tonight. Whether by blood magic or with lyrium: Dorian, Vivienne, Morrigan, Hawke or myself all have the ability to enter the Fade. Otherwise, it would be safer to simply give the man what he wants and kill him.”

Cassandra looked at him and then looked at Anders, who was sobbing into his knees, rocking back and forth. The Seeker nodded. “Then get what you need. We do this tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \----
> 
> “Ha, I can’t decide if you and Blondie would hate each other or get along, Chuckles. You haven’t betrayed anyone yet, right—so at least there’s that.”
> 
> Solas: *laughs nervously*
> 
>  
> 
> \--------------


	14. Anders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You aren’t even surprised that I exist.”
> 
> “I’ve seen stranger things,” Morrigan answered.
> 
> “Like your mother.”
> 
> Morrigan chuckled. “Indeed.”
> 
> \-------------------

Cullen fidgeted with a charcoal pencil. He tapped it against his stack of stationary. It was difficult, seeing Anders again. He’d watched him for almost six years as he ran around Kirkwall, helping mages out of the city. Seeing him again brought back a lot of memories. With Hawke—it was different. With Hawke, there were even a few good ones. The poor man had been through the ringer. He’d lost his whole family and then all his friends. Maybe…Cullen shouldn’t have been so hesitant to get to know Varric. He and Hawke were like brothers. And while he didn’t know the extent of Hawke’s relationship with Anders…he could guess that it had been close. Perhaps more than just close.

The decay in Anders had been slow, almost so slow that he hadn’t noticed until it was too late. But seeing him in the dungeons…he was totally mad. He had to be. What if getting rid of Vengeance didn’t do a thing? Would they then just put the mage out of his misery? It might be for the best.

“I suppose I’ll have to play Templar again….” 

A light knock on the door drew his attention but before he could call a confirmation, it was opening. The witch, Morrigan entered.

He stood up to greet her. “Lady Morrigan.”

She inclined her head graciously. “Commander Cullen. Last we spoke was a few years ago, was it not. At the Circle?”

“Yes,” he said, glancing aside. “I’m afraid you did not see me in the best light.”

“Few of us were in our best light.”

“You do seem a little less barbed than I recall.” He smiled a little.

She tittered lightly. “A little, indeed. I was younger then. Drunk on possibility.”

“If only we could go back and tell ourselves.”

“I wouldn’t,” Morrigan said with that sly smile. “I learned best by experience. I would have called myself a fool and likely done far worse.”

Cullen chuckled. “Not a bad perspective, being able to accept who you were, with all the bad that went with it.”

“You would have an easier time if you did the same, Commander.”

Cullen shifted a little and cleared his throat. “Well, can I help you with something?”

“I wished to see the Herald.”

“She’s upstairs,” Cullen said, nodding upward.

“In your bed?” Morrigan tittered again.

Cullen huffed. “She’s rather more of a sister to me.”

“I heard she didn’t feel much the same.”

“She is learning how to be human,” Cullen said, a little tersely. “I think her perspective is interesting and I would protect her but nothing beyond that.”

“Like a little sister indeed. I suppose one would prefer a woman over a girl.” Morrigan went to the ladder to climb up.

Cullen blinked and then felt awkward for some reason. He scratched the side of his neck. “I….yes.” 

He sat down again when she disappeared up the ladder, seeming unable to help glancing up at the ceiling when he heard the witch walking over to his bed. 

“This room is a dump,” Morrigan called down. “You are the commander. You ought make them at least fix the holes in the roof. Tis a wonder you don’t get sick and die.”

Cullen burst out laughing. “Should you plan another visit, I’ll talk to someone,” he called up at the ceiling.

 

 

Morrigan sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the spirit. She reached out, touching her forehead. She closed her eyes and reached, touching at Liesel’s mind gently. Flickers of images sped by, rippling against the Fade, pressing inside of the spirit’s head. Her own memories, joined by thousands of memories of others. 

Solas, younger and standing with a white-haired lady. Cole touched her nightdress. Cassandra—more feelings rather than memories: what she supposed a sister might have felt like. Blackwall, not a Warden (oh, how interesting). Leliana, faith shattered, turning into the edge of a knife. The poisoned blade of the inquisition. How different her former….comrade was now. The bright-eyed Maker-worshipping fool was gone. Farther, farther, flickering through washed out colors.

The Chantry in Kirkwall and Hawke, the handsome (sadly chaste) Prince of Starkhaven, the Divine, speeding in jerks and waves of feelings that did not belong to Liesel but that she recalled anyway. Thoughts, after all, touched each other—which would be the only reason that Morrigan found Alistair there as well.

The girl had never met Alistair, yet here was a memory of him—from Leliana. The two of them sharing a glance or two, lightly flirting about her being a bard.

And Shale, the living stone golem, saying, “Why is it agitated when you two speak so?”

Leliana pausing, looking ahead, where the Hero of Ferelden scowled to herself. “Don’t pause for me,” the Dalish elf said, a little testy. “You two can certainly keep flirting.”

Leliana and Alistair exchanged slightly guilty looks. “I am sorry, Bryndis.”

“You two should just go get it out of your systems. Go spend the night together or something. We’re in Denerim, after all. Plenty of inns here.”

“And brothels,” Oghren added. He always smelled of fish and ale, that dwarf.

“And other elves,” Zevran smirked, giving Bryndis a sidelong glance.

More flickering, colors and sounds.

Sten, the mighty and silent Qunari, who Bryndis became oddly attached to. Strange of anyone she might have chosen for a pretend-sibling, it was the one who did not even understand the concept of a sibling. She practically ran up to him, excited and eager so she could present him with his sword. He called her some Qunari word for ‘friend’ after that and she seemed to take that to mean she had worth or something.

Morrigan drew back, half-smiling a little to herself. Sometimes, despite all her callousness, she wished she could have separated from Bryndis on better terms. The elf was foolhardy sometimes and she could be very silly and she’d _agonized_ about Alistair when there were clearly better men around. But….she’d been good, too. She’d tried to be anyway. Watching her punch Queen Anora in the face after that stupid bitch had gotten her captured and taken to Fort Drakon though—worth it.

She remembered Arl Eamon looking at Morrigan herself, as if he expected the witch to stop the elf. Morrigan had looked at her fingernails. “Oh, I suppose I should stop Bryndis from breaking every bone in your queen’s pretty little face? Hmm—you know, I’m actually quite tired. Perhaps I shall go take a nap. Tis been a long day of fetching and carrying for foolish royals and their foolish politics.”

Singing then and echoes in starlight, flickering forward again to Anders, Varric’s anger, Varric to Bianca and back again to Vengeance. A very powerful demon. It had had a great deal of time to root deep into the mage. Expelling him might take more than one mage. 

That did not overly concern Morrigan, they had plenty of lyrium on hand. But Cassandra had asked her to advise on which mage to send. Hawke was out of the question. Solas was quite suspicious on his own—which she easily recognized from her own behavior during the Blight. Only a master of that game could recognize another. She wasn’t sure she’d trust him interacting with such a powerful spirit—he’d likely want to gather information first when what Vengeance needed was to be uprooted completely. No vestments of power left or passed on.

Vivienne would be an excellent choice. A stone-hearted bitch to her core. Mother would have liked her. The Tevinter, Dorian, might be guiding the ritual so that left him out. She rather liked his company, really. They’d spoken more than a few times, exchanging tidbits of information. He was an accomplished player of the Game in Tevinter’s way, which was somehow even more subtle than Orlais. He was also intensely curious about her magic and the only one she could discuss blood magic with without anyone screaming maleficar at her.

There was the other spirit, Cole, as well. He was quite remarkable. Morrigan had a feeling that Flemeth would have been interested in meeting the boy, if only to kill him for insurance for later. 

So perhaps the spirit would join them, Vivienne, herself and perhaps Dorian, if possible. Solas was more powerful than either of them but Morrigan trusted him less. He was too much of an unknown.

The witch pulled back from Liesel’s mind to find the girl’s eyes open. She was staring at Morrigan.

Morrigan inclined her head to the spirit. “Liesel, do you remember what happened?”

The girl’s voice was soft, like someone recovering from sickness. “I….I was in my room and I heard something—Justice. Solas told me to stay away from him but…but I thought he might be able to answer questions that I had. So I…went. I suppose that was wrong?”

“Do you remember entering the dungeon?”

“No…I sat down against a pillar across from Anders’ cell. I wanted to just talk to him. He seems so sad. And Justice is so angry. He’s Vengeance. He wanted me to…he thinks they’re going to…send me into the Fade after him. He asked me to let him possess me instead.”

“That would make him very powerful with your Anchor, Inquisitor.”

“Yes…I wasn’t sure. He touched and pulled at me. In the dream. But it…felt real. And strange.”

Morrigan raised her eyebrows, guessing the contents just from Liesel’s expression. “I take it no one has bothered to educate you on troublesome matters of sex and pleasure.”

“….I believe the Iron Bull told Cole. I think I understand now what Marguerite did to him.”

“But because of their silly ideas about you being a child—and a girl—they did not tell you. Tis not your fault but theirs, Liesel. You’d do better to not bother with them. Dorian can teach you how to use blood magic. Ignore the rest.”

Liesel pushed herself to sit up. She looked around. “This is Cullen’s room.”

“Yes. Someone finally had the sense to let the Templar watch you. He seems reasonable while still being aware of dangers posed to one of your kind.”

“He is working very hard at not taking lyrium. It’s been two hundred and eighty-nine days.”

“So the Templar wishes to be rid of his leash. Admirable. He has more will than most.”

“You met him at the Circle, after he was tortured.”

Morrigan nodded. “Tis so. A pathetic young man, I thought then—but he survived when none others did and he seems to have gained enough respect to become commander here, even after his abysmal failure at Kirkwall.”

“He’s very fierce but very kind. Inside though. In the deep-dark.”

“Spirits often speak of this deep-dark as if it were some physical place.”

“It is….but it….isn’t. I never had a deep-dark until I got the Anchor. Now I hear my own hurts. They’re louder now. Others are quieter sometimes. But sometimes it blares so loud that the Mark brings them to life.”

“What do you mean?” Morrigan asked her.

Liesel reached out her hands. Morrigan hesitated and then allowed the girl to take one of her own. She felt the Mark’s buzzing heat against her palm. There were flickers, flashes and then Cullen’s room dissolved. Morrigan tensed but showed little other surprise. She went absolutely still, watching the room change.

A younger Morrigan emerged from the wall. “You are no _mother_. Why did you even bear me at all! You’d have done better to kill me in the womb, would you not?”

“Yes, perhaps I should have,” Flemeth said, smirking at her. “At least then I wouldn’t have to listen to your complaining, girl.”

“Yes, I suppose you’d be quick to simply get yourself another daughter from wherever you beget me.”

“Maybe a blond this time, what do you think?”

The older Morrigan looked at Liesel and the spirit gently drew back. “Are these images you create from the Fade?”

“The Fade and you. Your mind. It skims thoughts like cream and shifts them into form like it remembers. You wanted a mother when you were young. But you never got one and you grew up very callous and harsh. Reading her grimoire was a terrible night that you didn’t sleep because it confirmed everything you suspected. That you were no more than a tool to her. That she truly did not love you.”

Morrigan was silent and then sighed. “I suppose so. I grew out of it, however. I took care of myself.”

“You knew how to be a witch,” Liesel said softly. “Just not anything else.”

Morrigan snorted. “Is there something else?”

“You’re a human too.” Liesel shrugged. “Sometimes there are limits to the power people should possess. Maybe if Flemeth didn’t take the bodies of her daughter, she might learn to value the one she had.”

“Her body or her daughters?” Morrigan scoffed.

“Maybe both.”

“It must be exhausting being able to hear everyone’s pathetic self-pity all the time.”

Liesel couldn’t seem to help but smile. “I was only Change. Cole was Compassion. He hears more hurts than I do. Or at least…before I got the Anchor anyway. But of all the hurts I hear and the images I see—those who are hardest on themselves are sometimes the ones who need it the most. Because they hide the soft bits from everyone else. But they can’t hide from me and Cole.”

Morrigan was kept from having to answer by the hatch opening in the floor and Cullen popping his head through it. “Cassandra says they’ve gathered all the lyrium on hand. They’re ready to start.”

Morrigan stood up. “We’re going to go to the dungeon to attempt to separate Anders from the spirit inside of him. Are you ready?”

Liesel nodded and got to her feet to follow.

 

 

 

Cullen presided over a small gathering of Templars that lined the walls of the dungeon. “Same rules for a Harrowing,” he said quietly. “Except for the immediate killing part. Seeker Pentaghast will make the call if she believes Anders is out of hand. We are merely maintaining a presence at this point. The effort is to attempt not to kill Anders but still remove the demon from him. This has been done before—for the son of Arl Eamon during the Blight. Sister Nightingale and Lady Morrigan were both present for that event and they are presiding otherwise. If you need lyrium, take it now. You should all have Harrowing vials.”

Cassandra prowled the stones in front of Cullen, touching her swordhilt. Anders had to forcibly sedated by Minaeve while Sergeant Ritner annulled around him because Vengeance kept attempting to take over. And every time Anders fought him back, his eyes became redder, more strained. The mage’s nose and ears had started to bleed. Cullen waited until Ritner was in place before he opened the bars and slid inside with Minaeve. He held the apostate and squeezed the pressure points under his jaw to force his mouth open and the alchemist fed him witherstalk milk.

“I don’t know how he’s held Vengeance back this long,” Minaeve said quietly when Cullen escorted her out of the cell and locked the barred door again. “He’s had a lot of time to dig in deep.” 

“It takes an incredible strength of will to hold out as long as he has,” Solas said quietly. “It’s lucky we found him when we did though. We will either separate him—or we can at least put him out of his misery.”

“Even now, I can feel him brushing against my mind.”

“Morrigan, Leliana,” Cassandra said, “Can you advise on which mages will go?”

“I will go,” Morrigan said. “I also thought Lady Iron and Lord Pavus might wish to go.”

Vivienne, who was standing with her arms crossed looking incredibly annoyed, scoffed. “I don’t see why we don’t simply kill him. He is an abomination now.”

“Not Solas?” Dorian asked, peering curiously at her.

“No. He is a little too interested in the affairs of spirits.”

“At least we can agree on that,” Vivienne huffed.

“Are my studies of spirits a problem for you?” Solas asked, a challenging lift in his voice.

“Not for _me_ ,” Morrigan said dryly. “But for a demon that you would rather get information from rather than root out—it would be a waste of time. You should stay and guide the ritual with Leliana.”

Solas’ bristled. “Or perhaps you know something we don’t and wish to use this situation to your advantage?”

“Last I checked, I did not seek fleas and lice from filthy apostates. If that changes, I’ll let you know.”

Cole appeared next to Morrigan. “I will follow them.”

“Could I also—“ 

“No,” Morrigan interrupted Liesel. “Vengeance has already touched your mind and will want to feed off the Anchor. Now, we’re wasting time. We should start.”

Varric stayed behind the line of Templars, leaning against the wall. Liesel went to sit next to him. Solas, being overruled, stayed by Leliana. Hawke joined him to assist. The lyrium flared and sparked into life. Morrigan, Dorian and Vivienne all sat on the floor. Cole stood in front of them. He vanished. The other three sunk into themselves to follow.

 

 

 

Vivienne was an iron-clad source of raw willpower. She had fought hard for everything she had. The strength of that will was, perhaps, only matched by her intense dislike of Morrigan. However, choosing Vivienne to go with her was something of a compliment. Recognizing she and Dorian as the superior choices over Solas was….somewhat comforting. At least she knew when to trust in trained mages instead of the _other_ suspicious apostate. 

“I’m still a little surprised you did not elect to bring Solas,” Dorian said, looking around the Fade.

“You know his name is the elven word for ‘pride’, don’t you? There’s something unusual about him.”

“At least on that, we agree, witch,” Vivienne said darkly. “He has a great deal of knowledge and very little personal history. It’s peculiar. Like you, witch.”

“Ah, perhaps we both see a little of ourselves in the elf, then?” Morrigan smirked at Vivienne.

Cole walked up the path to them. “I looked ahead—the pathways all converge on a single point. Vengeance wants us to find him.”

“Of course he does. He can’t try to make a deal if we aren’t there to listen,” Morrigan said and started walking.

Cole fell in step beside her. “You do not fear me.”

Morrigan glanced sidelong at him. “No, I do not.”

“You aren’t even surprised that I exist.”

“I’ve seen stranger things,” Morrigan answered.

“Like your mother.”

Morrigan chuckled. “Indeed.”

“Vengeance has had a lot of time to dig in here,” Dorian said, looking around. The land was faded and dark, littered with bodies, a ruined Chantry, shadows of Hawke and places in Kirkwall. “Do we have a plan or are we going to just run up on him and hope for the best?”

“I chose the two of you for your strength of will. It _will_ attempt to make a deal. I assume you both can resist, yes? At that point, tis simply a matter of killing it.”

“And if we cannot?” Dorian asked.

“Then he’ll likely die.”

“More the better,” Vivienne said.

“It matters not to me at all,” Morrigan said, “but I promised my services to the Inquisition and so we will try to separate them if we can.”

Cole glanced back at Dorian. “You want him to be saved, Dorian?”

The Tevinter glanced at Cole and shrugged. “I suppose so. It would be good if we can learn how to separate abominations without having to resort to killing the host. Possession doesn’t always happen willingly.”

“And you feel sorry for him because he is so avidly hated. Like how your father hated you?”

Dorian stiffened a little. “Now probably isn’t the time for that particular conversation, Cole.”

“Oh,” Cole said. “Sorry.”

“You _pity_ him?” Vivienne snorted in disgust. “I suppose one rat would recognize another.”

Dorian rolled his eyes at Vivienne. “Perhaps in thanks for such an incredible observation, I might get you a mask that comes with a gag.”

“There, ahead.” Morrigan nodded, coming to a stop on the pathways. They were riddled with debris, bones and blood. The screams of someone burning, the din when the Chantry exploded. As they approached a Spire, all sound died out. 

“He thinks quite highly of himself, doesn’t he?” Vivienne said, gazing up at the construct Vengeance seemed to have built. 

“Jealous?” Dorian asked.

“Hardly,” Vivienne answered. “The decor is appalling.”

Cole walked ahead of them. The tower was thousands of feet high, made of brushed sandstone so it glimmered golden red in the dim light of the Fade. The spirit touched the door and then stepped away. 

Morrigan placed her palm on it, feeling it buzz and crackle with power. Dorian and Vivienne joined her and the three of them broke the wards on the door. 

“You do have a great deal of power, Dorian,” Vivienne allowed as she pushed the door aside. 

“I have heard that, yes. Tevinter Circles are nothing like the abysmal little orphanages here.”

“Do they teach blood magic in your Circles?” Morrigan asked.

Dorian chuckled. “No, no, of course not. At least, not officially. Though….everyone _does_ have to learn from _somewhere_.”

The inside of the spire was empty. It was just a singular room, stretching thousands of feet high. In the middle of this circular room, was Vengeance. He was impossibly tall, with shadowy silver robes that turned black and blurry at the edges. His eyes were cool and milk-white. 

“You brought the wrong spirit,” he said. He eyed Morrigan. “Perhaps the witch is not as dull as I thought.”

Morrigan tapped her staff against the ground. “Let’s get this over with.”

“He’ll die,” Vengeance said. “I’m in too deep for you to save the mage.”

Morrigan shrugged. “It matters little to me. If he dies, it will be years too late.”

“You also left the elven mage behind. Disappointing.”

“Like him, do you? Why am I not surprised?” Vivienne said, flipping her staff to her side.

“I could tell you,” Vengeance said. “I could tell you what he’s hiding.”

Vivienne and Dorian both paused.

“I know. So does Liesel. And Cole,” said Vengeance, peering at the spirit. “You’ve known since the beginning. You can see it. But you have said nothing.”

“He doesn’t want it to happen,” Cole said.

Morrigan felt a twinge of curiosity that she quickly curtailed. “I have things to do, Circle mages. Are you so weak that I should not have brought you, after all?”

Dorian took the hint and jumped forward, casting a ring of time magic around them. Morrigan felt everything seem to speed up and yet, slow to a blur at the same time. Dorian’s power was raw and fluid, flexible—as much a part of him as blood or air. Vivienne’s was solid as a rock, a foundation, a beaten tool that she wielded with absolute certainty. 

The screaming started. Anders—they could hear him—screaming. Begging for death. Pleading with Hawke to notice something amiss. To stop him, to please stop him—and then Justice taking him completely. 

A small child raced up to them, her hair in braids and wound with colorful pieces of yarn. Her piercing eyes staring up at a strange Qunari—

Vivienne blasted the shadow of herself.

“The witch has usurped you, Enchanter.”

“I’m sure she’s well-aware,” Vivienne dropped her staff and drew her spirit-blade, smashing golden light into the demon. “If I needed a pathetic spirit to get revenge, then I would deserve to be usurped.”

“A surprisingly pragmatic view,” Morrigan said, sounding somehow approving.

There were shades and monsters, echoes and shadows—Dorian as a child, watching the soldiers saw through the ears of his poor elven nursemaid for some trivial offense. How he waited until he was an adult to find those men again and take his revenge, with interest.

How images flashed and flickered before Morrigan until a strange mirror appeared in front of her. _An eluvian?_

An elf was looking back at her through it, one with markings on her face. Someone called out, “Merrill!” from her side of the mirror and then she vanished.

None of them were really certain how long it took but Vivienne delivered the final blow with her spirit-blade. 

The Fade rumbled.

“Get out!” Cole commanded. “The tower is going to collapse.”

The three mages whirled around to run, Cole following. Morrigan disappeared first, breaking her connection to the Fade. Vivienne followed. Dorian, however, paused, taking one last look back. 

“Dorian?”

“What did Vengeance try to show you, Cole?”

The spirit stood next to the Tevinter, watching the tower collapse. “He wanted Morrigan to bring Liesel—in hopes of using the hold he already had on her. But she didn’t and he could not possess me here. He wanted me to let him…Liesel was my friend. But…it has been hard to be close to her lately.”

“Because of what you’ve learned?” Dorian asked.

“Yes. But now she knows too. It was easier for him to influence her because she was Change. But…I am Compassion. Compassion and Vengeance do not….work as well together.”

“You’ve become so strong, Cole. You’re….a good friend, you know.”

Cole smiled gently. “You are compassionate too. No one else really wanted to save Anders—except for you. Because you have to believe that someone can come back after being possessed. Perhaps you can be his friend.”

Dorian looked down and smiled a little. “Perhaps.” He sighed. “Well, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

 

 

Everyone else was waiting, hesitating until Dorian suddenly perked in his body. Cole reappeared. 

Morrigan was already on her feet, standing before Anders’ cell. The man was panting like he’d just run some great distance. His hair was tangled and mussed and his eyes were bleary. Hawke was standing next to Morrigan, watching the mage in silence.

“I’ll stay down here to keep an eye on him,” Minaeve said. “He’ll come out of sedation soon and then we’ll know for sure.”

“Vengeance is dead,” Solas said softly. “Truly, what a waste. Justice perverted by an unprepared mind.”

Hawke turned around, shooting a dark look at Solas. “I know my friend is little more than a pausing interest to you, elf—but he was a _person_ to me. So why don’t you leave?”

Solas opened his mouth and then closed it. “I…I apologize. I spoke without thought.” He inclined his head to Hawke and turned to go. 

The others followed.

 

 

Anders jerked into awareness. He swallowed hard, hands lifting and pushing his hair from his face. He looked around him. He appeared to be in a cell. He sat up. Someone jumped up and hurried over to kneel next to the bars. 

“Anders?”

He stared. “….Hawke?”

“Anders…” Hawke reached through the bars to touch his shoulder. “Is it you? Just you?”

“I…” Anders touched his chest, his face. “I….I think so. I feel….alone in my head…for the first time in…I can’t remember when.”

“How do you feel?” Hawke asked.

“Um….” Anders cast around a little and pushed himself to sit against the wall. “I….hurt. All over. My head feels heavy.”

“We had to sedate you,” Minaeve said gently, kneeling next to Hawke. “It should wear off soon. Are you hungry?”

“I don’t remember….” Anders bowed his head, covering his eyes for a moment before lifting them again and staring at Hawke. “I…I’m…myself again?”

“That’s the hope…..Blondie.”

Anders looked behind Hawke and Minaeve. “Varric…”

The dwarf looked uncertain but he nodded. “Yes. It’s me.”

“Where am I?” Anders asked faintly.

“You’re with the Inquisition in Skyhold. They killed Vengeance by entering the Fade and confronting him directly.”

“Why didn’t they just kill me?”

Hawke looked down. “The…Inquisitor wanted them to save you. So she didn’t let them kill you but brought you back here.”

“The Inquisitor…..” Anders looked at his hands and then looked up. “Liesel? Was that her name?”

“Yes.” Hawke looked at Minaeve. “Can we let him out?”

Minaeve shook her head. “I’m sorry. Not yet. Not until Seeker Pentaghast and Commander Cullen give the word.”

“Cullen? Knight-Captain Cullen is here?”

“He’s not a Templar anymore. He left the Order.”

Anders drug his hands down his face. “There’s so much I don’t remember….”

“We’ll help you, Anders. Things are different now. But…I’m still your friend. I’ll help you.”


	15. Tranquility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “…..what _is_ the Inquisition?” Anders asked quietly.
> 
> “Sometimes I wonder that myself,” Dorian smiled. “I jest—it’s a collection of moderately fashionable people who enjoy cold places entirely too much who are attempting to root out a form of red lyrium that drives everyone who comes into contact with it to madness. And, of course, saving the world from one called Corypheus who enjoys his madness in a distinctive sauce and a healthy dose of forcing Templars to ingest it, turning them into monsters. So, just another Tuesday in the south, I suppose.”  
> \--------

Anders sat in steaming hot water, sweating out the muddled feeling in his head. He was clean, though. That was a nice feeling. It had been a long time. He hadn’t even realized what bad shape he was in until Hawke had led him to quarters of his own. Hawke stayed to see him settled and then stepped out. He was not far away—sitting in the hall with Varric, no doubt—along with two guards who were probably Templars. That would have infuriated Anders before. Now, he was just glad to be himself again. The past eight or ten years were a blur. He remembered Kirkwall. He remembered Hawke. He remembered the Chantry. But they were just fleeting, intense moments. Everything inbetween—he felt like he’d been drowning. Drowning in Justice. 

What an arrogant fool he’d been—thinking he could take such a spirit into himself and not destroy himself or the spirit. He was only one man. And while he was devoted to helping other mages…he needed to be able to step back and know his limits. But he hadn’t. And he’d ruined lives—others as well as his own. How Hawke could have let them try to save him was beyond Anders. He’d hurt Hawke more than anyone else. 

He was exhausted again when he finally got out of the tub and dressed. Justice had both provided energy and drained it. He fed off Anders but also gave power. His body seemed confused, breaking out in cold sweats, fever, hallucinations—and the nightmares were relentless. The mage felt like a shadow of himself. He sat on the bed, rocking back and forth a little until the door opened.

Hawke entered with Varric and another man in tow. 

“Hey, Blondie,” said the dwarf. “Don’t know if you remember—this is Sparkler.”

“Dorian Pavus,” said the dark-eyed mage, inclining his head to him. “I hope you are feeling better.”

“Clean, if nothing else,” Anders said quietly. 

“We….brought scissors and a razor. Thought you might want a shave and a haircut,” Hawke said, eyes tracking around Anders’ room.

“I would not trust myself just yet,” Anders said. “My hands…still shake. But thank you, Hawke. I will…take them for later?”

“Yes—that’s—yes, that’s fine,” Hawke said, placing the straight-razor and scissors at the small writing desk. “Anders….I…” Hawke seemed to search for words, not looking at him.

“It’s all right, Hawke,” Anders murmured, looking down at his knees. “I don’t deserve this. But thank you. None of you knew me before Justice....”

“I suppose it will be like meeting you for the first time all over again,” Hawke said, somewhat clumsily. “I mean…”

“I understand.”

“I should go,” Hawke said and turned away to head out the door. 

Varric hesitated and then said, “….I told them to kill you, Blondie. But I guess maybe I’m glad we didn’t.” He turned to go as well.

Dorian hesitated. “I am a friend of Varric’s. I could help you, if you wish.”

Anders glanced up at the man. “….you are…from Tevinter?”

“Yes—just a mage, not a magister. Perhaps it’s still too raw to say—but I never knew you at all until now. So perhaps it would be easier for me to assist, until he comes around.”

Anders looked at his knees again. “….I think that’s over.”

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth—which is likely very little.”

Anders glanced up at him. “That’s kind of you to say, Pavus.”

“Then allow me to assist, Anders. Is that your real first name?” Dorian went to the desk and went through the small bag Hawke had left, removing soap and a small rag and a bowl. He filled it with hot water from the tub.

“It’s…what everyone called me at the Circle.”

“I see. I can call you that—unless you would prefer something different?”

“No. Anders is…who I am.”

Dorian nodded. “Come sit over here, please.”

Anders got up slowly, walking unsteadily to a chair Dorian had pulled over by the tub. “If you’re going to slit my throat, I’d thank you for it.”

“You’ll have to remain disappointed, I’m afraid. We went through a lot of lyrium going into the Fade to kick out that demon—what a waste it would be.”

“A waste of lyrium?” Anders asked, sitting down heavily.

“A waste of a perfectly functional throat,” Dorian clarified, smiling a little.

Anders managed a faint smile.

Dorian cut back the tangled beard. He felt surprisingly little tension from Anders—the mage wasn’t afraid of Dorian killing him. Perhaps he was even hoping for it. It made him….sad, a little. It wasn’t his place to pry, he knew. So he spoke of something else instead. “The rooms here in bottom level are underground, you know. Always warmer than the rest of the keep. There’s also access to excellent wine—providing one can pick locks.” He spread foam over the ragged mage’s face. “And the kitchens are close enough to sneak in to. I imagine your appetite hasn’t returned just yet—but it will. They make an excellent meat pie that is comforting and…heavy. In a Fereldan sort of way. But it is good.”

“I’ve never seen a lone Tevinter mage outside the Imperium,” Anders said softly. “Have you…been here long?”

“I came here to join the Inquisition a little over a year ago. And no, I don’t practice blood magic. And I don’t approve of slavery. As you might imagine, this made me somewhat unpopular back home.”

Anders watched him in the mirror. “Politics?”

“Oh yes—my father is a magister. What a disgrace his son is,” Dorian said, smirking and waving a hand with a flourish. “You’d think I was against blood-soaked drunken debauchery.”

The corner of Anders’ mouth twitched. “Are you?”

“Just the blood-soaked part. It’s too much work to get blood out of everything when there’s drinking to be done.” He gently held Anders’ jaw, sliding the razor up to his cheekbones. “Goodness, you do have skin there, don’t you? I was beginning to think you some sort of very ill bear.”

“…..what _is_ the Inquisition?” Anders asked quietly.

“Sometimes I wonder that myself,” Dorian smiled. “I jest—it’s a collection of moderately fashionable people who enjoy cold places entirely too much who are attempting to root out a form of red lyrium that drives everyone who comes into contact with it to madness. And, of course, saving the world from one called Corypheus who enjoys his madness in a distinctive sauce and a healthy dose of forcing Templars to ingest it, turning them into monsters. So, just another Tuesday in the south, I suppose.”

“Corypheus….I know that name….”

“Yes, Varric said he and Hawke fought him once before.”

“He’s from Tevinter, isn’t he?”

“So they say.”

Anders peered at him. “You must…have a difficult time here.”

Dorian smirked. “Oh, it’s part of my charm. So don’t worry—no matter how much anyone dislikes you, they’ll always dislike me more.”

Anders snorted softly. “That’s one way of looking at it.” 

“As one pariah to another—I couldn’t help but be interested in your predicament. Fortunately, the Inquisitor felt the same.

“That’s…Liesel, yes? What is she, exactly?”

“She is a spirit who took on a human form. A Tevinter assassin attempted to stop Corypheus from blowing up the Conclave that was intended to end this Mage-Templar war. This Tevinter assassin had bound a spirit of Change to herself as a servant. Lines got crossed—the spirit touched a powerful artifact and boom—suddenly she’s a real young lady who reflected the form of her master. With the mind of a spirit.”

“No wonder Justice was so interested in her. I’ve never heard of such a thing. She’s not possessed?”

“No. She is herself, entirely. That would be anomaly enough—and then we met Cole. Who also has manifested a physical body—but he is a spirit of Compassion.”

“Shouldn’t that be impossible?”

“Apparently—until now.” Dorian set aside the razor and grabbed a towel, gently wiping off the mage’s face. “There you are. Now, there’s safety in numbers so I can go with you to get something to eat—or I can bring you some tea. You still look a little shaky on your feet.”

“I…am,” Anders admitted, looking down. 

Dorian could see the shame in the man’s face. “Stay here then. I’ll be right back.”

When Dorian returned, a tray of tea and bread and cheese in tow, Anders was back to sitting on the edge of his bed. “If people dislike you here—they will only dislike you more if you associate with me.”

“Well, good thing I’m not here for any of them, then. You should have heard what they said about the Inquisitor before they called her the Spirit of Andraste. I find that those with the whole world against them tend to be better friends than those who are popular.”

Anders watched him quietly. Dorian poured him tea and pushed the cup across the table to him. “Go on then.”

Anders looked down into the teacup for a long moment and then up at Dorian. “…..thank you.”

 

 

 

It was interesting, and confusing, to see the Lord Seeker again. Cassandra had finally tracked the man down after months of searching and they went together to see him. He was full into madness by then and they were forced to kill him but he gave Cassandra something very interesting. It was a book concerning all secrets of the Seeker order.

By the time they returned to Skyhold, Cassandra was chomping at the bit to barricade herself in her quarters and read the thing, cover to cover. Once she had and sat down to explain to Liesel what she’d found…she seemed as distraught over the corruption of the Seekers as Cullen often was about the Templars. 

But what stuck out the most was the way which one reversed the Rite of Tranquility. A touch from a spirit had freed Cassandra. 

So now Liesel sat in the library, watching Helisma wander the mezzanine, cleaning and organizing as she always did. Just a touch to the mind of a Tranquil?

Liesel looked down at the Mark on her hand. Then back at Helisma. She sat in her chair more comfortably and looked at the table. The Tranquil were always confusing to listen to. There was just silence. Just a strange buzzing quiet that never made any sense. Liesel reached out, skimming over the room, slipping across into the Fade to the researcher. Liesel touched her mind.

The Tranquil froze, jerking in place and starting to shake. 

And then she started shrieking.

The library burst in confusion, Dorian came racing up the stairs, Solas right behind him. Vivienne appeared from the side door. 

“What happened!” Dorian called out to Liesel, running towards Helisma. 

It occurred to Liesel that perhaps this hadn’t been the correct way to try this. 

Solas grabbed the woman, who collapsed, holding her head. 

“What is going on!” Leliana called down, hurrying to the stairs to join them. 

Vivienne froze. “She’s…..she’s not Tranquil anymore.”

Solas whipped around to look at Liesel. “Did you touch her mind, Liesel?”

Liesel cringed, sinking down into her chair. “….I….I wanted to see what would happen….”

“Liesel! Tranquil are people! You can’t just do something like this unprepared!” Solas said sharply.

“What happened!” Helisma shouted. “Where am I!?” She was sobbing. “That was horrible. Please don’t make me Tranquil again! It was so dark and silent and cold! Please—don’t!”

Solas touched his forehead. “You have disrupted this woman’s mind. She is terrified! Had you wished to try this—you should have _told_ us! You do not simply experiment whenever the mood takes you, Liesel!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry…I…I….didn’t….”

“You didn’t think!” Vivienne snapped, sharply. “You demons never do! You are human enough that you should have understood the damage that throwing her back into herself could cause. Don’t touch anymore of the Tranquil until we can be certain they won’t be harmed! Get out of here—we need to deal with Helisma and you’ve caused enough damage for one day!”

Liesel cringed back from Vivienne, staggering up from her chair. She tripped over her bootlace and fled. 

“Liesel, wait!” Dorian called after her.

Cassandra was just coming in the doors, Varric next to her. 

“Cricket?” Varric asked, seeing her stricken expression but the girl ran by, flying down the stairs and out the main doors.

Cassandra did a full-stop, watching Helisma struggle in Dorian’s hold as Leliana tried to calm her down. 

 

 

Liesel ran, flying over the keep grounds, ignoring all the looks as she passed, as questions were thrown her way, as people wondered at the screaming and hurried to the Keep. She raced passed them, going to the gates and sprinting across the narrow bridge over the icy gorge below. She ran out into the snow, bogged down by it, until she could scramble up. She kicked away her shoes and made herself _light_ , running on top of the snow.

She’d really made a mess of things this time. What if they tried to bind her for this? They were so angry. Vivienne was so angry. She drug her sleeve across her eyes, feeling the always-curious sensation of tears. She was _stupid_ and wasn’t she human enough to _understand_ and how could she be so _thoughtless_ , so _careless_.

_I do everything wrong. I do it all wrong._

She stumbled into a cave, scrambling to the back of it and bracing herself against the wall. She slid down to sit in the dark, rocking back and forth gently. The cave darkened as night fell. The air got colder and Liesel pulled veil fire from the Fade to keep warm. Its blue light scattered away the shadows like sapphires in the sun. 

The Anchor flexed and murmured to her about her mistakes, her selfishness, her lack of empathy. Did she even think of Tranquil as being real? Didn’t it matter that throwing them back into themselves was like throwing a dwarf to the Surface when she’d lived underground her whole life? 

 

 

After nightfall, Cullen refused to wait any longer and sent out two parties to search for the Inquisitor. Of course, by then word had spread through the whole keep that the Inquisitor had somehow reversed Tranquility. Vivienne was furious, demanding that they contain this information or risk causing more violence among both the rebel and loyalist mages. 

“That little demon has been the cause of more trouble than she corrects!”

“Screaming at her certainly didn’t help,” Dorian said, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms.

“And what shall we do then? Coddle her? Keep treating her like a child? She will _never_ understand the significance of what she’s done if we don’t show her the consequences! This will cause more violence, more unrest and all because she was _curious_! That is a child’s excuse! She has the body of a woman and the mind of a girl—a fool, yes—but a girl. And a demon.”

“We can’t do anything until we find her,” Solas said softly. 

“She should be confined to the keep after this. We can’t bind her, but we can certainly contain her,” Vivienne said, whirling around then to face Cassandra. “This is what you read about in your Order’s book, I gather. And you told her, why?”

“She is the Inquisitor, Enchanter.”

“I’m Grand Enchanter to the Empress. If anyone should have been told, it should have been me. Not the _demon_.”

“Stop saying that.”

The Enchanter scowled at Cole. “Quiet yourself, demon. If the Maker were good, He’d be rid of you as well.”

“So eager to pass out judgment, Enchanter?” Morrigan drawled. “I can’t imagine what you all expected would happen. That the Enchanter wishes to so desperately control this information says more about her than the Inquisitor’s naivety.”

“You are a barbarian witch. You are neither needed nor wanted here.”

“Especially by someone who would make us all Tranquil, I suppose.”

“Mages are dangerous. Those who would cause chaos—as they will when word spreads that the Inquisition can now reverse Tranquility—must be put down or stopped.”

“Especially when they are outside your control, Madame Enchanter?”

“Feel free to pretend that the situation of mages and apostates like yourself is a simple matter of reason. It will be on your head when the mob comes for you.”

“They can certainly try,” Morrigan smiled.

“I imagine it wouldn’t be the first time,” Dorian said, smirking. 

Morrigan laughed.

“Cole,” Cassandra said, “can you feel her presence?”

“She is…here. But not…here. Not in the keep. But….near.”

“Is she in the Fade?” 

“She hasn’t been able to enter the Fade since the Conclave,” Solas said. “She would have to travel on foot—likely she is only in the surrounding mountains.”

“Cullen already has two teams out looking for her. They’ll find her,” Varric said quietly. 

“Indeed. Perhaps you might all simply tell the truth to mages—instead of treating them like children now,” Morrigan said and turned around to walk off.

Vivienne seethed when the witch left. “That woman—she does not understand what this will do—“

“Or, perhaps she does,” Solas said calmly, “and she feels it must happen anyway.”

“You would say that. You’re an apostate—and hardly much better than she is.”

“Perhaps you’re simply too limited.”

“I deal in reality, Solas. Not in idealistic dreams,” Vivienne snapped. “As if letting that Anders live wasn’t bad enough.”

“You are free to leave any time you wish, Enchanter,” Cassandra told her flatly. “We will do what is right—whether it is politically convenient to you or not.”

“While I desire that we do the right thing,” Josephine said calmly, “it must still be acknowledged that this could cause considerable backlash from the Chantry.”

“That will only prove our cause as just,” Leliana said. “They developed this to control mages. It isn’t right. We had no influence when all this began—now, we have plenty. This will show those who are doing what is right versus what is political.”

“Admirable, yes—but it will not help if we are cut off from coin.”

“We got by without it before. We can do it again,” Cassandra said firmly.

Vivienne threw her hands up and whirled around, stalking out of the room.

 

 

Cole spirited passed Cullen, who was standing at the gates with his arms crossed as a soldier appeared carrying a pair of shoes. Morrigan approached to speak to the commander. Cole ignored it for now. He missed his friend. He missed Liesel. And his uncertainty about her now seemed like the silliest thought he’d ever had. They were friends. They were alike. They belonged. 

He flickered over the snow, feeling for her presence, reaching out to try to find her mind. 

By the time he felt her, dawn was upon them. He moved faster though until he found a small cave. He could just make out flickering blue light. Veil fire, no doubt. He entered.

The cave was dim. The Inquisitor was curled up against the wall, hands wrapped around her bare feet. She did a slight double-take when he entered. “….Cole?” She said softly, surprised.

He went to her, sitting next to her and wrapping his cloak around the both of them. He pulled her against his shoulder, ducking her under his hat. She was icy cold and the other spirit wrapped his arm around her. 

“I missed you,” Cole said softly.

She buried her eyes in his shoulder. “I missed you too.”

 

 

When Leliana returned to the rookery, she slowed on the stairs. 

Blackwall was sitting at her work table. He stood up when she entered. “Sister Leliana,” he greeted quietly.

Leliana watched him. “Yes? What can I do for you, Blackwall?”

“I…” the man looked down at his feet and then back at her. “I….wanted to speak to you, privately. About something.”

Leliana nodded. “Of course. Have a seat.”


	16. Blackwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come, Commander.” Morrigan turned away, hearing Cullen follow her as she made her way out of the war room, down the hall, outside and to a small side chamber. She heard Cullen’s quiet gasp of surprise when he saw the giant mirror. “This is an eluvian, Commander. It’s a very rare elven artifact that I restored at great personal cost.” She lifted her hands.
> 
> Cullen started, grabbing the pommel of his sword on reflex when the mirror turned from black to startling blue.  
> \---
> 
> This is the song I imagine for the Crossroads: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TrkdmNI_LfU

It was Cullen who saw them first, walking across the snow. “Cole!” He hurried out to them. 

Liesel looked up at the commander and then down. Cole had his arm and cloak wrapped around her. He shadowed her with his hat. 

“It’s all right, Liesel,” Cullen said, softer. He looked at Cole. “Are you both all right?”

Cole nodded. “She’s just cold. I’ll take her inside.” 

Cullen could only turn, watching Cole walk away with her, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. And then he shook himself, “Sergeant Ritner—have them blow the horns on the walls.”

“Yes, Commander.” 

Cassandra met Cole inside the gates. She looked over the two of them and then simply walked beside them in silence. Before they entered her quarters, Liesel turned to Cassandra. “I’m sorry,” she said, softly.

Cassandra nodded. “You were trying to do the right thing. Next time, we should speak first before attempting to Wake any of the Tranquil. All right?”

“Yes, Cassandra.”

“Then go upstairs. I’ll have tea and food sent up.”

They turned away from her and shut the door behind them.

Cole curled up with her. Her cold feet were pressed against his legs. He didn’t mind. Cole removed his hat, setting it on the night table as they sat up against her headboard. He removed his cloak and laid it over her feet. She reached up and touched his hair. 

The two spirits looked at each other.

Liesel’s gaze was clear, sharper than before, as she touched his hair and then his jaw. He drew her in against his shoulder, wrapping an arm around her. Her fingers curled into his shirt, making herself smaller against his chest. Cole stroked her spine, letting his eyes rest in her hair.

 

 

 

Blackwall looked down at the table. “I’m…I’m not actually a Warden.”

Leliana didn’t move. She didn’t look surprised either. “Yes, I know.”

Blackwall started and looked at her. “What?”

“I’ve known since you came here.”

He stared at her. “Wh—how? What—did the spirits—“

“No. But I was a spy in Orlais. Such intrigues were well-known in certain circles. I told the rest only that you were _not_ what I expected. Because I’ve known Wardens. I didn’t believe for a second that you are simply ‘immune’ to the false Calling that Corypheus created. You didn’t even know about it. That would have clued me in, even if I hadn’t already figured out who you were. Blackwall was a good Warden and much respected among Grey Wardens. But he was not born in Markham. You possess only a bare resemblance to him. But he disappeared several years ago.”

“Then why did you send them to recruit me…?”

“Duncan, the Grey Warden who recruited King Alistair and Warden Bryndis—he knew Blackwall. When I heard that Blackwall had been spotted, I was curious and sent for you. Luckily, you came. You were clearly not Blackwall—you don’t dream like a Warden does. And you couldn’t even give Varric an estimate of how many darkspawn were in Vallanmar. Wardens can always sense the presence of darkspawn. So I came to the conclusion that you were hiding from something. I know what it’s like to hide from a past you’d rather not have catch up to you. You seemed like a good man, if troubled. I’ve known plenty of liars in my time. I once traveled with Morrigan, after all. And I was a bard. I can smell a liar. Those who escape my detection are either masters of the craft, like Morrigan—or their lies were simply of no significance to me. Like yours.”

Blackwall glanced away. “So even as a liar, I’m nothing.”

“I’ve been protecting your identity. You’re not a spy, Blackwall. You’re a warrior. It’s always better to stick to what you know. You shouldn’t lie for the same reason I shouldn’t use a broadsword.”

“So what are you going to do?” Blackwall asked her. He looked like he was going to be sick. 

“You coming to me indicates that perhaps you’d like this deception to come to an end. Is that not so?”

Blackwall looked down at her worktable. “I….the spirits…Liesel she…saw things in me…I…”

“I imagine so. If we turn you in to the authorities in Orlais—you will be executed. You know that?”

Blackwall looked at his knees. “……I’m tired of running.”

“Then you wish to atone in some way.”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll start here,” Leliana said. “We will gather the others and you will tell them. You will tell them who you really are and the crime you committed. 

 

 

“What do you suppose Vengeance meant by saying he’d tell us what Solas is hiding?” Dorian asked, sitting by the hearth in Morrigan’s chambers. 

Morrigan lifted her eyebrows, pouring herself a glass of heavy spiced wine. “I can’t imagine. Sometimes he reminds me of my mother.” She snorted softly and pushed the pitcher of wine across the table to Dorian.

He poured himself a new glass. “Well, if your mother is stubborn, unforgiving, a bit sarcastic, with a dash of arrogance given an extraordinary talent but with a strange sort of charm…then perhaps so.”

Morrigan had the glass halfway to her mouth and stopped. She looked sidelong at Dorian. “Was it true—none of you know anything about him?”

“We don’t,” Dorian said. “He is very…evasive about such details.”

Morrgan made a curious sound to herself before drinking her wine. It sounded a little familiar. Like how she had been when traveling with the Hero of Ferelden. “How did this Solas come to join the Inquisition?”

“Apparently, he showed up shortly after the explosion, claiming he wished to help in any way he could with the Breach.”

“And he just so happened to be an expert on the Fade?”

Dorian shrugged. “Apparently so. Do you think the spirits would tell us? Vengeance did say they knew. Though even if they could, it would likely be a jumbled mess of riddles, I suppose.”

“Perhaps…” Morrigan looked thoughtfully into her wine glass. She wondered what her mother would have said about the elf. He _was_ strange. And definitely not to be trusted. Flemeth probably would have liked him. Morrigan grumbled a little.

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts and she stood to answer it. A runner stood there and he bowed to the witch. “Lady Morrigan, Commander Cullen requests your presence in the war room.”

Morrigan nodded. “Tell him I’ll be along shortly.” The witch looked back at Dorian. “Why don’t you take the rest of that wine for your new friend?” 

Dorian blinked at her. “Oh. For—oh. Well. I suppose I could.” 

Morrigan grabbed her staff to make her way to the war room.

When she arrived, she found Cullen alone by the war room table. He looked tired. The big man was like a machine, it seemed. Never resting, always working. He was handsome in a storybook sort of way. The rubbish Flemeth had never let her read when she was a child and so hadn’t discovered until she was an adult was, indeed, rubbish. But there was a sort of idealized look that the commander embodied. He was sort of like Alistair…only not as stupid. Yes, that was what it was. Morrigan studied him as she approached the table. He was handsome like Alistair was, only not a moron.

For some reason that made her chuckle softly to herself.

Cullen looked up from the maps. “Lady Morrigan?”

“I apologize, Commander,” she said smoothly. “I was thinking of Alistair. You resemble him a little, you know. But he was a fool. Handsome, but a fool.”

Cullen blinked at her. “Oh. Well. He…did say his relationship with you was…tenuous.”

“A surprisingly diplomatic description.”

Cullen smiled a little. “He said it improved a little after dealing with his sister.”

Morrigan smiled. “I do believe I said he ought to have punished her or something. Torn out her acid tongue. And then he said we would have gotten along. But I suppose he is right, I did feel a tiny bit in his defense, mostly because he was such an idiot. But he _was_ Bryndis’ idiot. And I respected her, for what it was worth.”

“Have you…seen her since Denerim?”

“No….and I’ve heard she disappeared.”

“Yes. The Inquisition has been trying to find her since…before the Conclave. She was our original choice for Inquisitor but…it’s like she vanished. With all the rest of the Wardens.”

“I do wonder how Alistair is fairing, dealing with hearing this Calling.”

Cullen paused. “I’ll ask Leliana about that. Having the King of Ferelden going mad is probably not a good thing.”

“Likely not.”

“I wondered if I could ask you about…well, Denerim.”

Morrigan raised her eyebrows, eyeing the Commander.

Cullen rested his palm comfortably on the pommel of his sword. “I don’t mean to pry, only that we heard about the ritual that saved Bryndis. You were said to have born a child by Alistair.”

“Yes, I did.”

“….where is the child?”

Morrigan glanced around the room, as if to ensure it was empty. “I’ve kept him away until a time I deemed safe for him to be here.”

“If anything happens to Alistair, your son—“

“Kieran will not be king of Ferelden,” Morrigan cut him off. “He’s safe for now and I visit him often.”

Cullen peered curiously at her. “How?”

The witch smiled a little. “I suppose it was my intention to show the mirror to you all eventually.”

“A mirror?”

“Come, Commander.” Morrigan turned away, hearing Cullen follow her as she made her way out of the war room, down the hall, outside and to a small side chamber. She heard Cullen’s quiet gasp of surprise when he saw the giant mirror. “This is an eluvian, Commander. It’s a very rare elven artifact that I restored at great personal cost.” She lifted her hands.

Cullen started, grabbing the pommel of his sword on reflex when the mirror turned from black to startling blue. 

“Follow me.” She stepped through the mirror.

Cullen hesitated and then stepped through as well.

 

 

The commander gazed around the world they stepped into. There was mist and strange metal trees and hundreds and hundreds of other mirrors. It was…an eerie place and yet, strangely peaceful. “This is….”

“An inbetween place. A place I call the Crossroads, Commander.”

A small dark head of hair peered around a pillar of a structure about a hundred yards away. The boy raced out to Morrigan, slowing when he saw Cullen.

“This is Cullen Rutherford, my love. He is a…friend.”

The boy peered up at Cullen silently.

Morrigan glanced sidelong at the commander. “His name is Kieran. He rather resembles me over Alistair.” 

“Hello, young man,” Cullen said. “You’ve been staying here, then.”

The boy nodded. “To keep me safe, Commander. To keep _it_ safe.” He smiled gently.

Cullen peered at the strange expression the boy wore. Like a child lost in a dream, almost. “You seem very...polite, Kieran.”

Morrigan chuckled softly. “He is much kinder than his mother. Perhaps it’s Alistair coming out in him. Or perhaps it’s…being a mother to him instead of how Flemeth raised me.” 

“Is Flemeth like you?”

Morrigan snorted softly. “Flemeth is _far_ worse than me, that old hag.”

“You shouldn’t say that about grandma,” Kieran said reproachfully.

Morrigan ran her fingers through his dark hair and sighed. 

“If you’d like to bring him to Skyhold, we could open another room for him,” Cullen told her.

Morrigan looked down at Kieran for a long moment and then nodded. “Yes…perhaps the fresh air will be good for him.”

Cullen studied Morrigan for a moment. He’d thought her, at first, just a callous witch but…perhaps behind that prickly cold veneer there was…something else. Perhaps someone who, had she been raised by someone else, would have been…a kinder woman. Perhaps even…

As if feeling his gaze, Morrigan looked up, meeting his eyes dead on. Cullen cleared his throat and looked away, a touch awkward. Kieran looked back and forth between them. “Well,” Morrigan said, almost sternly, “let us depart then.”

The witch led them back to her mirror. 

Cullen looked back a last time. “This place….” He said softly. “It’s….peaceful.”

Morrigan paused, as she’d been about to step through the mirror, and looked at him. “Yes. It is.” And then she went through.

Cullen felt a strange longing to stay. It was so quiet here. Beautiful. Calm. Even the music of lyrium was dulled here. He shook himself and stepped through the mirror. 

On the other side, Cullen started a little.

Cole and Liesel were standing together in front of the mirror with their hands clasped, as if awaiting their return. 

“We felt you go far away and yet…not,” Liesel said softly. 

“We wondered if she had taken you,” Cole added. 

“She didn’t,” Cullen said. “She only showed me where her son was staying.”

Cole looked down at the child while Liesel stared at the eluvian. The shining light reflected her eyes. “An inbetween place?” she asked.

“Yes,” Morrigan answered.

“Can I see it?” Liesel asked.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” the witch said, bowing her head slightly.

“Blackwall wants everyone to meet him at the tavern,” Cole said quietly, still studying Kieran. “He wants to tell everyone about his days in the rain.”

Cullen narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“We already knew he was hiding. But now he’s ready to come out behind the black wall,” said Liesel, “and wash it clean in the rain.”

Cullen glanced at Morrigan, who shrugged one bared shoulder. It had never occurred to Cullen before this but he suddenly wondered if she was cold. He shook it from his mind. “I see. Then I’ll go to the tavern. Lady Morrigan, may I escort you?”

“Most kind, commander,” she said with a soft smirk. “Kieran, my love, do show the spirits the Crossroads. No doubt they already know what Blackwall wishes to tell us.”

“Yes, mother.” The boy smiled up at them. “Come on! There are so many mirrors! My mother says that they’re _eluvians_ and they’re elven.” He hopped through the shining glass.

Cole and Liesel clasped hands again and followed.

 

 

 

Two hours later, Blackwall leaned against the counter in the tavern, not making eye contact with anyone.

They were very quiet. Cullen and Cassandra both had locked jaws, glaring at him. He could feel it. The mages all looked repulsed, Solas in particular. Vivienne sneered and shook her head. Dorian was sitting next to Anders, arms crossed. 

Iron Bull looked bored. He poured a tall mug from that horrible ale he drank and slid it down the table to Blackwall. Varric simply watched everyone, looking curious and interested. Sera stared at the table. She’d told no one of what she’d seen between Blackwall and Liesel. Josephine looked sad. 

Hawke stood up first, shoving his chair under the table. He scowled at Rainier. “You….” And then he shook his head. He turned around and walked out.

Anders had no reaction at all. He just looked sad. Who was he to judge, after all? And he _was_ a Grey Warden. Or, at least…had been. Anders wasn’t really sure that he…was a Warden anymore after having Justice inside of him for so long.

Cullen and Cassandra stood as one and prowled out of the tavern. Both of them looked angry enough to spit nails.

Eventually, the only people left were Iron Bull, Sera and Varric. 

“Drink up,” Iron Bull advised, nodding to the mug he’d poured for the man. “You need it.”

Varric took out a wheel of leather, unwinding it to remove a pipe and a little pouch of hash. He slid it over to Blackwall. “Just give ‘em some time, Hero.”

Sera just watched him silently and then got up to get beer for the four of them.


	17. Toy Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got a new job and its been really stressful. So I've been gone a lot. Then I tried to make a music video, haha.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOM993NlvdM  
> \----
> 
> Morrigan shook herself a little and took the little statue. Her uncertainty made her hesitate before looking at him again. “You are oddly like Alistair in some ways. Yet, you seem slightly less of a fool.” And with that, she turned on her heel, reaching out a hand to Keiran. “Come, little man. Show me these statues the commander has given you.”

“I’m not unreasonable,” Cullen grumbled.

“I can use smaller words,” Morrigan sniffed.

Cullen raised his eyebrows. “I only asked about its security. I don’t have magic myself, perhaps you’ll recall?”

“Yes, Templar, I’m well-aware.”

Cullen sighed a little and shook his head. The commander sat down in his chair, not even looking at the witch anymore as he pulled a bundle of reports to himself. He heard her turn around and stalk out in a huff.

“She doesn’t always want to be mean.”

Cullen stiffened, doing a double-take at the door. Morrigan’s son, Kieran, was standing at the corner of his desk. He stared at the boy. He hadn’t even heard him slip inside. 

“She sees the caution she didn’t have. Something Wynne showed her.”

“Wynne…she was an Enchanter—the one who left with Bryndis.”

“Yes,” said the boy, in his strange, raspy voice. “I dreamed about her. And her son, Rhys. He knew Cole.”

Cullen started. “And Evangeline…”

“You don’t…have to be scared of each other,” Kieran said softly. “She’s afraid because you’re a Templar and her powers don’t matter around you.”

“I don’t take lyrium anymore,” Cullen said, sitting back in his chair and watching the child walk around to the front of his desk.

He rocked back and forth a little on his heels, reaching out and touching one of the leather-bound books on Cullen’s desk. “She was right. You’re better without it. You remind Mother of Alistair. But not.”

Cullen peered at the boy. “Does she…” he hesitated, not sure how to word the question he wanted to ask. “She was…harsh with Alistair but…”

“He was kind when it mattered.”

The commander looked down at his hands. “Kindness…” He felt like he was on the cusp of understanding something but it lingered just out of reach. It was just a feeling. His fear of mages, her fear of Templars—he was letting his fear go. She had not. 

_Is it fear deep down?_

Cullen looked back up at the boy. “How old are you, Kieran?”

“I’m ten.”

“Do you…like to—do you have…toys? Games?”

“I have books. Mother wants me to study a lot.”

Cullen opened up his desk drawer and withdrew a small bag. “I found this while my soldiers were cleaning up some of the towers. Perhaps you could find a better use for it than I can.” He held it out to the boy.

The child peered at the bag. His expression was unearthly, almost unreadable, like Cole’s was sometimes. And then he reached out and took the bag. He opened the drawstring and took out a squat wooden figure of a dwarf. He smiled at it. “What is his name?”

Culled tilted his head. “The dwarf?” He plucked the first male dwarven name that came to him. “Radast.”

The boy smiled knowingly at him. “You have still things ahead of you.” And then he turned and left, holding the dwarf in his hand.

To Cullen’s surprise, the boy returned later that day. And again the day after. He didn’t really say much unless Cullen spoke to him directly, but he sat in the corner in Cullen’s office and read his books. The little dwarf standing guard by his foot. 

Morrigan did not seem to know what to make of Kieran’s presence there. She glared at Cullen suspiciously. “Why do you keep coming back here, Kieran?”

“It’s quiet here. Quiet in him, Mother.”

Morrigan wrinkled her nose. “Don’t….don’t bother the commander,” she groused.

“I don’t,” he said.

“He doesn’t,” Cullen agreed with a small shrug. 

Morrigan still didn’t seem to know what to make of it, looking between her son and Cullen like the commander were some unknown species of dangerous creature. She took a breath. “I will come and collect him later,” she said tersely, like she had to make a warning out of it.

“He’s no trouble,” Cullen said and picked up his reports again. 

 

 

There had been children like this in the Circle. Not very many but a few and one he remembered from Kirkwall—Sandal. A dwarven enchanter, who was remarkably skilled but somehow…odd. Like Cole and Liesel and Kieran. It was strange to remind himself that he no longer had to keep his distance—it wasn’t really natural for him to deal with children—but he didn’t have to consider the possibility of killing them immediately anymore. 

His sergeants seemed interested in the child’s presence with the commander. None of them questioned it but Sergeant Ritner did bring a second figure of an archer to Cullen. She and the others had painted it in silver and blue for him. When he gave it to Kieran, the child stood by his desk. 

“Will you show me?” he asked.

“Show you what?” Cullen replied, raising an eyebrow.

“How they work.”

Cullen looked at the two wooden figures. “What do you mean? The archer is…an archer.”

“Is she human or an elf?”

Cullen took a closer look at the wood. “She’s…well, her hair covers her ears. So I don’t know. She can be whatever race you want.”

“A huntress like Ghilan’nain, an archer like Andraste.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Like Leliana.”

Cullen rubbed his chin as he considered that. “I have another, you know. A Ferelden soldier that I was given in Crestwood.” He stood up and went to the ladder to his loft. He picked up the wooden soldier but when he went back to the hatch…

His vision swayed. Things became…grey and strange, things became still. He heard the boy say something—but it was muted and fuzzy and…

His legs collapsed and the commander plummeted. His head smacked into the side of the hatch opening and he fell to the floor below.

 

 

Morrigan opened the door and froze. 

The commander was lying on the floor near the ladder to his loft. She searched around the room. “Kieran?”

His head popped up from the commander’s desk. “Mother…”

Only then, she hurried into the room. “What happened?”

“It calls to him—the song—he doesn’t take it anymore. The lyrium.”

“I know that. Did he fall?” Morrigan asked, kneeling next to the man and urging him onto his back. The side of his face was bruised and bloody. She grabbed up his cloak to press it against the wound. 

“Yes, Mother. He wanted to give me a wooden soldier.”

Morrigan scowled down at the commander, feeling a twinge of...something like guilt. She cleaned him up.

Sometimes Kieran was still too kind for her to understand. Perhaps it was Alistair coming through in him. As much as they’d disliked each other, things had changed that night in Denerim. She hadn’t anticipated that. She hadn’t anticipated Alistair to show her kindness. Perhaps if things had been different, she could have gotten to know him better—but that was all in the past now. Alistair was the Warden-King, Bryndis had disappeared afterwards because she’d known there was no place for an elf in court—even one who had saved the world (with some help). 

Cullen was more serious than Alistair. And he was…trying to help. He was afraid of mages, just like he was probably afraid of Liesel. But he tried not to let it control him. He wasn’t taking lyrium anymore…which left him vulnerable to magic…

Why did she feel confused? The witch grumbled and touched the side of his face to heal him. Wynne had shown her how, she remembered. Where was Wynne these days? Perhaps she was still with Shale?

Cullen started awake, muscles tensing under her hands as he jumped a little. She leaned up, watching him carefully. He looked at her and then up at the ladder and then to his left hand, where he still held the wooden toy soldier. “I fell,” he said.

“Yes. You still have tremors from the absence of lyrium, commander.”

He pushed himself up and despite herself, Morrigan reached forward to brace him. He looked at her uncertainly. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. He grabbed onto one of the ladder rungs to pull himself to his feet. She stood with him to assist. 

“It’s no matter,” she said, a little gruffly. “Just that the Inquisitor needs you intact. And I suppose my son seems to like you well enough so the least I can do is help you stand.” She looked away a little. “Better than a drunk, I suppose.”

Cullen snorted on a soft chuckle. “Having more than once escorted recruits who had too much mead and then threw up on my gauntlets, I agree.”

Morrigan snorted softly, and then looked around the room to her son. She was…agitated. Though she wasn’t sure why. “Well, just—what were you going to give him?”

Cullen showed her his palm, where the little figure still hid. “It’s a Ferelden soldier—to go with the other two.”

Morrigan reached out to touch it. 

A Ferelden soldier, a Templar, who had met the hero of Ferelden, with blond hair and amber-colored eyes, a strong jaw and a strange sort of restrained gentleness—Alistair wasn’t as kind as he used to be. He was jaded now. 

Cullen was more thoughtful than the mad boy who had commanded them to murder the remaining mages in the tower. A Ferelden Templar, who met the hero of Ferelden, with blond hair and amber-colored eyes, a strong jaw and a strange sort of restrained gentleness—

Morrigan shook herself a little and took the little statue. Her uncertainty made her hesitate before looking at him again. “You are oddly like Alistair in some ways. Yet you seem slightly less of a fool.” And with that, she turned on her heel, reaching out a hand to Keiran. “Come, little man. Show me these statues the commander has given you.”

 

 

 

Liesel gazed around the Crossroads. Cole stayed at her side. “It feels almost like the Fade,” she said.

“We can imagine things like mortals do,” Cole told her.

Liesel smiled a little and reached out to touch his arm. She felt his fingers brush her cheek and they folded into each other. His long, spindly fingers carded into her hair and they both hesitated a moment uncertainly before meeting under Cole’s hat. 

It was a small kiss, an experiment, almost chaste. It seemed almost natural. After everything they’d experienced separately and as both of them became more human…touching minds to find comfort, touching skin to experience the warmth of mortals and their comfort because they were growing, slipping away and becoming more real…

It was strange and yet…yet….

The tips of her fingers skimmed over Cole’s jaw, curious and attentive. “It’s different when they did it.”

“Yes. They had. More practice.” Cole couldn’t seem to help but lean down to her ear. “You….smell good.”

She looked up into his face and then leaned in at his throat, breathing him in. “You smell like buttered biscuits.” She placed a small kiss there, lightly. 

He shuddered a little, fingers curling into her jacket. Around them, the almost-Fade shimmered and shifted. The trees seemed strangely closer, dim and quiet, intimate. It was a strange place. There was no one here and yet…it was like all things were here. Or could be here. Or had been here.

“I have a room now,” Cole said. “Josephine gave it to me. It’s in the basement. It’s warmer down there.”

“I’m starting to understand why people were so concerned about my feet,” she said, skimming her fingers over his vest. 

“You’ll have to see it.”

“We should talk to Kieran too,” Liesel said quietly.

“He’s very old inside.”

“Later though?”

Cole smiled gently. “Yes.” 

She lifted off his hat, gently laying it down on a raised dais close to them. It let her touch his hair as they explored each other. Nothing beyond shy touches but the emotions, the feelings, the sense of warmth….

 

 

 

Cassandra found the two spirits the next morning, sitting outside her chambers.

The warrior stopped cold. “What is it?”

Liesel lifted a band of her hair, which appeared to be tangled in a knot.

Cassandra sighed. “What did you do?”

“I tried to show her how to braid but….it didn’t work,” Cole said.

Cassandra couldn’t seem to help the soft smile as she shook her head. “All right. Come downstairs with me. We will eat breakfast and I will untangle that—what is that? Ribbon?”

“I thought it would work better,” Liesel admitted. “It didn’t.”

Cassandra sat on one of the benches in the main hall. There were still some rolls of bread and lumps of jam for breakfast and a servant hurried out with a pot of hot tea for them, promising that waffles would be up post haste. Liesel sat beside Cassandra and the warrior turned herself to straddle the bench, picking up the tangle of hair. 

“You really did a number on this,” Cassandra told her, watching Cole sit on Liesel’s other side. “Why did you come to me and not one of the others?”

Cole’s expression was hidden behind the brim of his hat as he looked at his knees and then at Liesel’s shoulder. “You understand. And you don’t hurt people if you don’t have to.”

Cassandra’s fingers paused in Liesel’s dark brown hair. “I….oh.” And then wasn’t sure what to say.

Thankfully, a runner came up to them with a message from Josephine. She took a moment to open it. “Seems we have word from the south. The Frostback Basin—they may have found something of interest to us.”

Cassandra handed the note to Cole so she could go back to untangling Liesel. She had to cut the ribbon out but she managed to untangle the rest of her hair. The woman stayed the spirit from standing so she could quickly braid the spirit’s hair. “There. Now it is braided. We will work on that sometime. But for now, this will do.” She tied off the braids with the remaining ribbon. 

The three of them went to the war room, where Leliana was already clearing the board and laying down a missive from a university professor camped out in the Frostbacks. 

Cullen entered a moment later, making Josephine start, “Commander! What happened?”

“I’m fine—bit of a fall earlier,” he said, glancing away as he made his way around the maps.

“She doesn’t know sometimes if you remind her of Alistair—he was kind when everything else wasn’t,” Cole said.

Leliana chuckled. “What? He’s different from Alistair, definitely.”

Cole glanced up at her and smiled a little. “Not you.”

Morrigan came through the door, looking bored and crossing her arms. She glanced at Cullen once and then fixed her eyes on the maps.

Leliana looked at Cole, then at Morrigan, then at Cullen. “What happened?”

“I only fell,” Cullen said, a little tersely. 

“Don’t worry, spymaster, his head may empty but it is quite thick. He’ll recover,” Morrigan said acidly.

Cullen snorted on a chuckle. “She _did_ say I was unreasonable for asking about the eluvian,” he said to Leliana. “But I don’t think she is aware how much I’m not a Templar anymore. But perhaps Kieran can explain it to her. Using small words.”

Morrigan, despite herself, tried to fight back a little smile as she chuckled.

The bard looked flummoxed for a moment. 

And then Josephine cut in. “Let us begin? We have a letter from the University of Orlais in Val Royeaux—I believe this would be quite interesting for us to look in to. I know this professor by reputation and others in the university do vouch for him.”

“What did they find out there?” Cullen asked, spreading out a small train of reports.

“He believes he is on the trail of the last Inquisitor.”

Liesel blinked and looked at the map. “Ameridan.”

“Yes,” Josephine said. “He disappeared almost eight hundred years ago and Professor Bram Kenric believes he might be on the way to finding him.”

“I’ll sent a battalion ahead to help establish a foothold there,” Cullen said. “And then we can travel as a group, if you’d like, Inquisitor?”

Liesel looked at Cullen. “Yes. Let’s find Ameridan.” She smiled at him. “He talked to spirits too.”

“While we wait, we can deal with Blackwall,” Leliana told them. “Authorities in Val Royeaux want him to hang for the murders of General Callier.”

Cullen scowled. “The deaths of his men and what he did to them…”

“I would find it difficult to trust him in the field,” Cassandra groused.

“I believe the safest place both for himself and for us, is _with_ us,” Leliana said, a little quieter. “I should have said something sooner.”

Cullen and Cassandra both tensed a hair. 

“You knew?” Cullen asked her. “The whole time?”

Leliana looked down at the maps. “Yes.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Your blind spot for Grey Wardens—“

“I know. But despite that, he seems like he wants to atone.”

“Do we owe that to someone who betrays so easily?” Cassandra said stonily.

Leliana raised her eyebrows and looked at Morrigan. “Excellent question. Do we?”

Morrigan scowled and looked away. “Have I not shown my dedication?”

“Has not he?” Leliana asked stiffly. 

“Fine—he stays with us but he will be watched by your people,” Cullen determined.

“Liesel, what do you think?” Cassandra asked.

The spirit looked at her and then down at the maps. “This is his last chance. He will make it right.”

 

\--


	18. Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mood music: Sesam by Par Bostrom : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oh4E9IRHJ_M
> 
> A bit Cole/Liesel as they struggle to understand mortal sexuality  
> Cullen/Morrigan  
> \----
> 
> “You miss Fenris too,” Liesel said quietly. “You miss all of them. Want them to meet you again. Now you’re new and clean. Now you’re more _you_ , really you. Not clouded by Justice. You want to show Fenris that not all mages are bad. Not all spirits are wrong.”
> 
> Something cracked a little in Anders’ gaze and he looked down. Dorian lightly touched his arm. “It’s all right—it becomes rather cathartic when you realize how much they know. How they know you better than you know yourself.”

Liesel grabbed onto the wet stone, trying to throw herself forward. She slipped immediately, crashing into the cold, damp stones of the temple. She scrambled, feeling a wave of terror pull her stomach up. She couldn’t see—

_(Panic)_

A sob of terror choked itself out of her throat as she scrambled to get up, had to run, had to go—the windows were bright from the afternoon sun to the north and she had to just reach the top floor where there was a higher window that was bigger. Not little slats in the walls but a perfect square of clear glass, showing a vast forest. 

They would catch her for sure. They would. And then they would lay the scratchy burlap on her skin and they would stick pins in her to keep the fabric there and they would sew her into a sack of her own.

To go with all the others on the walls.

She reached the stairs, grabbing into the railing and throwing herself up. She stepped on her shoelaces and went down again. She wanted to scream in frustration, terror, rage that she—

She kicked her shoes off, made herself _light_ but the next landing—it looked like the one below it. Who was covering the windows?

Floor by floor, the filthy, blood-soaked burlap crawled up the windows, slithering up over the building to close her inside. Trap her in and suffocate her. To stick all the needles in her—

 

 

 

Her eyes flew open. Her face was damp with tears, breathing hitched from panic. Cole was above her, uncertainly fretting with her hair as he rocked back and forth. He was shaking, arms wrapped tight around her. “You had a nightmare,” he said. “I…I couldn’t _help_. I…you were here but not…not _here_. You were in both at the same time. I didn’t _know_ that’s what it was like to dream. That’s why it doesn’t make sense to demons when they’re torn through the rifts! How mortals feel during nightmares is how demons feel here.”

Liesel pushed herself up so she was eye-level with Cole and she hugged him again, burying her eyes in his shoulder. “It’s horrible. I couldn’t control or change _anything_! I was helpless! It felt so real, even though I knew it couldn’t be!”

“And that’s why spirits becomes demons here—they can’t control anything. They can’t change anything. They do the same thing mortals do. They wake up crying, or screaming, or fighting because they _can’t_ wake up….and we have to kill them.”

The two of them clung to each other. 

“Maybe that’s why we’re not supposed to be here? Because the Real is…to us what nightmares are to mortals. And mortals aren’t supposed to go into the Fade. The Veil wants to protect both sides from each other. We bring pieces of ourselves to the other place. Like Sera brought the Dreams with her. And we brought the Fade with us.” Liesel’s fingers tightened into Cole’s shirt, both of them sharply feeling each other’s emotions _and_ their own. 

Cole’s fingers grabbed into her, pushing it into her back, skimming a strip of warm, brown skin. She breathed in sharply, felt a strange feeling seed into her belly. It made her want to get closer, to reach for something that she didn’t have words for. Comfort, perhaps? Mindless comfort? Something….real?

Something that felt real? 

Like a dark gorge, the concept laid out before her and beckoned her to cross. Needed to feel that things were real in the Real itself. So she was more real now?

She wasn’t sure how to put it together so she touched Cole’s mind to share it with him. And something about that was…was incredible. Suddenly realizing she could feel Cole’s thoughts as intently as her own and the strange sense of connection…like she had just discovered it.

But they’d always been able to share thoughts and touch minds—but now it felt different. Like something new and strange but…almost….intimate.

That seemed wrong—because that word _intimate_ had a sexual connotation that she was just starting to understand. Connecting to Cole before this had been just like talking. But now it felt…strange. Like they were all around each other. Like instead of a vague press, she now felt his individual fingers as they pulled her shirt up her spine and then the touch of his cool, rough fingers. He touched her by accident at first…then on purpose.

It made her take a shuddering breath and Cole’s fingers tightened against her skin. She felt something intense in him—like how anger felt inside of him—but…but somehow…different. Fiery and overwhelming for him, he didn’t seem to understand any more than she did. But when her spine arched into his touch, he flattened his palm against her back and slid up her spine. He pulled her into his lap, sitting up now against her headboard. She straddled his thigh, swallowing hard. The fear from the dream getting refocused, honing in on this instead. On how Cole’s other hand slid up her thigh, awkwardly touched her brown skin and then raised the front of her shirt. He touched her bare breast.

Cole felt her jerk a little, felt her breathing hitch _flooded with sudden tension, like a string ready to snap, like a vibration of warmth in the belly that makes her slick between her thighs and hazy in her head_

And Liesel felt his arms shaking as he let his hands explore her, cupping her breast gently and watching her reactions _something hot and heavy over the eyes, the lips, dilated and hungry, never understood until now, she smells good, so good, I can’t hear anything but her breathing and our heartbeats, frantic and scared and wanting but not knowing how or why or understanding but somehow wants anyway_

Something inside of him _spiked_ and they both shuddered. One hand stayed on her breast, the other went down her hip—he saw it. When Iron Bull dreamed about Josephine, touching her there, something that made her—

Liesel gasped, eyes flying open. She grabbed into Cole’s shoulders, shaking as his fingers gently brushed against her slick heat. Her hips jerked involuntarily and Cole’s fingers pressed harder. He stared at her the whole time, looking overwhelmed as the strokes quickly had her keening, quickly had her shaking as climax crested up over her eyes and pulled her under. She slumped onto Cole, breathing shallowly. Cole swallowed hard, shaking as he stared at her, taking in the terrifying intensity of the emotions. How they felt almost _too_ real. So real that he should feel helpless. He had no control. Like how mortals often felt in dreams.

But this was different…because now they were both more real than not…and now he _could_ do something.

She looked at him with hazy eyes and leaned in. Clumsily, they kissed. Liesel trembled with a little laugh. “It’s always either too dry or too wet. I don’t understand why mortals do it.”

“I think, with experience, it feels good to them.”

Liesel nodded a little and they tried it again. Damp, oddly rough, like rubbing the points of your elbows with someone. She leaned into Cole, which pressed them together. The thin fabric of her nightdress did not dampen the feeling of his hands curling into the fabric again. She felt him shudder, something building in him that he couldn’t seem to describe. 

Liesel looked into him, like touching thoughts and feelings to let it guide her. Let her fingers slide down, touching curiously. They had never really understood mortals’ shame of their bodies. She and Cole knew they liked for the spirits to wear clothes and did not like it when the spirits saw them changing but neither of them really understood it.

Until this very moment.

When Liesel touched him, he breathed sharply and ducked his head. She leaned into him, letting him rest his forehead on her shoulder, let him dig his fingers into her skin as he seemed to struggle to control something inside of him. He seemed to tremble at the precipice, the edge of something and then he breathed roughly, almost totally silent. They had both been totally silent as he came over the edge. She might normally have been curious about it…but she was too overwhelmed. They sunk into each other, curling up near the head of the bed, breathing hard and letting the tension drain out of them.

 

 

 

The next day, they were on the move again, heading south to the Frostback Basin. Hawke went with them, as did Anders and Rainier and Morrigan. Kieran was very interested in this turn of events. He wandered along the roads, walking by the wagons or sometimes running ahead. 

The soldiers didn’t seem to mind the boy as he appeared suddenly at Commander Cullen’s side. The scout giving him a report did a slight double-take at the child but then pretended not to see him. 

“How do you feel?” Kieran asked him.

“I’m well, Kieran. Thank you,” Cullen told him, peering down at him. “Are you tired? You can ride my horse, if you like.”

“I’ve never ridden a horse,” he said thoughtfully, looking up at Cullen’s huge warhorse.

“Well, that’s always a useful skill.” Cullen opened his hands and waited for the boy to step closer before he gently picked him up and placed him in the saddle. Cullen walked beside the steed.

“It’s higher up here,” said Kieran and then he looked down at Cullen. “The dreams showed me what you forgot. What you tried to forget. And what you couldn’t.”

Cullen glanced at him. “Are you…like Cole and Liesel?”

“A little bit,” the boy rasped. “I hear everything. You want to make it quiet but it’s very hard.”

Sergeant Ritner appeared at Cullen’s side, looking up at the boy and giving him a little wave. She spoke to Cullen. “Should we get him a horse, Commander?”

Cullen smiled crookedly and nodded. “A gelding, perhaps. Something gentler than a war horse. His mother would skin me alive if anything happened to him, I think.”

“She would,” Kieran agreed solemnly. “She would tear your skin away. She doesn’t like to do that but to protect me, she becomes a lion. The Mother, fierce and dangerous.”

Sergeant Ritner saluted and hurried down the caravan to see what she could find.

Morrigan appeared not long after they’d stopped for the night. She huffed. “How did I know you would be here,” she grumbled, arms crossed as she approached Kieran and Cullen. “Why do you seek out the Commander so much?”

“He pulls me to here. It makes more sense.”

“I sent Sergeant Ritner about to find him a horse to learn to ride.”

Morrigan seemed to hesitate, on the verge of objecting, and then seemed to change her mind. “I suppose that’s for the best. But not a giant beast like this one. Something smaller, or a gelding, perhaps.”

Cullen nodded as he picked up a box of canteens. “Sergeant Ritner will find him something, Morrigan. I can teach him, if you like.”

Morrigan still seemed off-footed. “All right. If you desire. Though there’s no need. I can teach him just fine on my own.”

“I know,” Cullen said. “I believe you, definitely.” He smiled a little. “I only wanted to offer.” He shifted the box. “I’m going to go fill these at the river.” And he turned around to head away.

Morrigan watched him, feeling unsettled. 

“Are we going to the river as well?” Kieran asked, finding his canteen and showing it to Morrigan. It was empty.

“I can,” Morrigan huffed and she took his canteen. “Stay here by the fire, Kieran. Don’t wander too far.”

 

 

 

By the time Morrigan arrived at the river, Cullen had a fire built. He was boiling water in a pot. “Did you need something?” he asked when he glanced up and saw her. He stood.

“Only to get water for my son,” she said stiffly.

“I can take it, if you like,” he offered.

“No, I. I can do it myself,” she replied tersely.

“All right,” Cullen told her and couldn’t seem to help a small smile.

“You laugh at me, Templar?” Morrigan demanded as she went to the river to fill the canteen. 

“No, just that—I know you can do things on your own, Morrigan. I asked to be polite and because it’s colder down here. And you—“ he gestured to her shirt and looked away, as if embarrassed a little. “You seem like you might take a chill.”

Morrigan looked down at herself and scowled. “I suppose it would be well-deserved? After we met at the Ferelden Circle, I can’t imagine you wouldn’t want revenge for whatever mockery I put on you then.”

Cullen looked down at the fire, expression darkening a little. “I don’t remember very much about that day so if you mocked me, Morrigan, I have no memory of it.”

Morrigan looked slightly uneasy, irritated with herself. “Why not?”

Cullen scratched his hair. “I assume for the same reason many people forget painful memories—to protect themselves.”

Despite herself, she felt a twinge of curiosity. “….what do you remember about that day?”

The commander looked uncomfortable, glancing at her and then back at the fire. “If this is just so you can mock me now, Morrigan, then I’ll pass.”

It was the witch’s turn to look down. “I…did not ask so that I could mock you. I can do that just fine without a story.”

Something about her honesty made Cullen glance up at her. Her arms crossed severely and yet there was something else to her gaze…something almost…

And then he heard himself begin: “It started a few days before you all arrived. A lot of people died. There were demons and abominations. It was…terrible.”

“How did the Templars lose control of the Circle?” Morrigan asked.

Cullen swallowed hard. “It…” He glanced aside, trying to figure out how to word it. He’d never actually…spoken about it out loud before. “We were slaughtered,” he said finally. “All of them.”

“Except you?” Morrigan said.

“Except me.”

“What did they do to you?”

Cullen poured water into a couple canteens and then refilled the pot from the river. “I…”

The lyrium buzzed in the back of his mind, filling his head up with the screaming. So much screaming as they died. So much screaming into the dark. As they brought Amel before him—where was she? Had she died already? No—this was a vision—just the demons. The demons took her form to try to manipulate him. 

And then the Hero of Ferelden had come with Wynne, Leliana, Morrigan, Alistair, Sten and Zevran. 

“They…tried to…break my mind,” Cullen managed aloud, looking at the flames. He felt something in him crack. 

“They tortured you,” Morrigan surmised. 

“Yes,” he said, a little stiffly.

“I’m surprised you allow Kieran near you, then.”

“In a Circle, Kieran would be made Tranquil or I would have had to kill him. I never thought when I became a Templar that I might be asked to kill children. But they did. And I answered.” His hands went cold.

“You would have killed a child on command?” Morrigan scoffed at him. “You were just as weak and pathetic as the rest.”

Something in Cullen boiled over. “What would you know about what it’s like to have no magic?” He stood up. “What would you know about that? You were _born_ powerful. What about those of us without power—who have to learn other ways so that mages don’t simply murder us with a snap of their fingers? _You_ advised the Hero of Ferelden to let everyone _die_.” He sneered at her. “It must be difficult, having power, beauty and intelligence—putting yourself above everyone else around you because you could never understand what it’s like to have none of those things.”

“I would never allow them to be taken,” Morrigan retorted, putting down Kieran’s canteen and glaring at Cullen.

“Yes, of course,” Cullen scoffed, standing up and advancing on her. “What would you know about that? What would you know about being helpless? About those who aren’t gifted and who are at the mercy of the powerful and wicked?”

“Am I wicked, Templar?”

“There must be something worth having if Kieran is so kind but fuck me if I can see it. Are you so insecure, Morrigan? You asked me about the time when all my friends were butchered, when mages I wanted to protect were slaughtered because of blood magic, when children of the Circle were put to the sword by Templars driven mad by fear—do you think the survivors don’t look at that as the worst day of their lives? Do you think we see mages as pieces of wood to be thrown into a fire?”

Something in Cullen’s eyes emptied out and Morrigan tensed. “The red…it grew all over. And the children screamed into the dark. Cowards abandoned them with the Tranquil. I knew what some of the Templars had done to the children, to the Tranquil, to the mages. I didn’t want to believe it—but even before the abomination took over—there were beatings, rapes, abuse—all because of power. Jailers and prisoners. I never wanted to control anyone. I wanted to _serve_.”

“And afterwards?” Morrigan asked coldly.

Cullen snorted. “They tried to _break_ my mind. How can you be the same person after that? And do tell me, if you know, witch. I’d like to stop being haunted by night terrors and memories. They sent me to _Kirkwall_ ,” he said the name of the city like it were some horrid disease. A place of darkness and death, tragedy and pain.

“And it took you six years to do something—“

“I wasn’t myself after the Circle! But how could you ever understand that, I suppose,” Cullen snapped.

“Just because I stay true to myself and refuse to be made a prisoner and you walked around Kirkwall with your hands out, hoping someone would lock you up so you could succumb to self-pity and madness—“

Cullen’s eyes flashed, whirling around and advancing on her again. “I wanted to _serve_! To _help_ people. What did you want to do? Mock the dead? Sneer at murdered children? What if it was Kieran who—“

Morrigan slapped him—or would have—but Cullen snatched her hand right out of the air. “Do you not like to think about that, Morrigan?” Cullen asked, voice dropping low and dangerous. “What a Circle might have done to him if he hadn’t been born to you? Do you like thinking of how he would have been murdered first and his blood used—“

“Unhand me, Templar—no one will harm my son!”

Cullen grabbed her shoulders, staring down into her face. “I don’t want to harm your son. I’ve had to worry for years about the idea that I might one day have to murder a child—but I never did. And after I left the order, being around a child again is…a child like Kieran is….” He searched for a word and finally settled on, “….soothing.”

Morrigan froze, staring up him. Soothing. Yes, Kieran’s presence was soothing. Hadn’t he also helped sooth her ire, calming her cruelty, her tendency to bite first? “…I…suppose we have something in common then, Cullen.”

The Templar’s breathing was stilted, still holding her shoulders. His thumb brushed against her throat and he swallowed hard. 

She reached up slowly and she saw how his eyes followed her fingers as she gently touched the side of his face where she’d healed him. He was humming with tension, fingers sliding into her soft, black hair and they seemed to fold together. 

Her fingers tangled into his blond hair almost immediately and she grabbed him and pulled him to her. Her aggression seemed to be permission for him and his other hand grabbed into her hip, pulling her into him. She kissed him, dominated that first kiss because he would likely not make the move without her permission. 

There was a power in his grip that shot an unexpected thrill into her chest. He was stronger than Alistair, definitely (the bastard prince had never taken his abilities very seriously) and broader. Cullen listed right on the verge of his self-control, like a shutter being battered by a hurricane. 

When they broke apart, they stared at each other for a moment. Her eyes burned as he analyzed her expression. “Do you—“

“Don’t ask me if I’m certain, Templar. Nothing is certain these days. Suffice to say, I’d turn you into kindling if I weren’t.” And she jerked him down to her again.

Cullen grabbed her up in his arms, fought her this time for control of the kiss before going to her throat. He heard her shudder silently as his fingers curled into the thin fabric of her shirt. Her fingers slid up, pulling off the catches of his mantle and cloak. They slid off onto the ground and she started on his armor as he took her hair down. 

The witch’s hands traveled over his shirt when she pulled his armor off and let it fall to the side. In a twinkling, the buttons were uncoupled and she felt his hands shake when she touched him. He was so…he spent so much of the time pretending to be unflappable…rather like she did, she supposed.

The world spun as he suddenly took her off her feet and dropped her to his cloak. Morrigan silenced the small sound that wanted to crawl out when she felt his mouth fasten onto her breast. So he had some experience, at least. 

She arched into him and felt a large, rough palm grab into her thigh, sliding under the leather skirt. His fingers found the edge of her boots, slid up to the apex of her thighs. She breathed silently, sharply as his fingers found her slick and hot. He groaned softly, gritting his teeth as he struggled to keep control of himself. Morrigan helped, sort of, by pulling him up to kiss him so that she could reach his belt. She felt the slight trembling in him as she unlaced his trousers and boldly drew him out, stroking him. 

His shoulders stiffened above her as he stilled himself. After a moment, he looked at her, met her eyes. Their mouths met too and she drew him forward. He pressed into her with a soft gasp, a shudder and a groan that he stifled against her mouth. Her spine arched again as her body fluttered to accommodate him. He drew back and snapped his hips into her, eyes darkening when he heard her unable to stifle a small sound. He worked her slowly, plunging into her, hips rolling as she accepted him. Her thighs were tight up against his sides and he shuddered, trying to take a deep breath. 

Their eyes met again, hers fierce and intelligent and now becoming clouded when she felt him stroke inside of her. Getting the powerful witch to look at him like _that_ seemed to fog over his other fears, letting go in favor of just existing in the moment with Morrigan.

Their eyes stayed connected somehow, both of them were intense people, after all. But he’d never seen that precise moment in someone’s gaze—when the feeling crested over them like a wave and she came around him. And then he seemed to lose his control, thrusting frantically into her as their eyes somehow stayed with each other; as he throbbed inside of her wet heat. He bowed his head, unable to keep her gaze when he spilled inside of her but she grabbed his jaw. She forced his eyes back to hers and she watched him.

They throbbed within each other as the sweat settled and cooled on them. As he wrapped his arms around her to protect her from the chill, one hand winding up to gentle stroke her hair. Morrigan was uncertain for a moment, feeling how he held her, how he seemed…almost protective. How it seemed to be…about her…rather than just being immersed in the moment. She could feel his emotions, settling into something warm and strange and gentle—something that normally would have put her on edge, on the defensive. But he held her, not demanding anything else, just stroking her hair as if he needed to comfort her. 

And who knew, maybe she needed it too.

 

 

 

Liesel looked up from the campfire. Cole and Kieran were sitting across from her. “They found it.”

“They’re both fierce,” Cole said.

Kieran smiled a little and nodded.

Dorian walked over. Anders trailed behind him, eyes flickering around the camp as they sat down with the spirits and Kieran. The Tevinter offered out a skin of hot wine.

“It tastes different now,” Liesel said. “I understand it better, maybe.”

“You’re more real than not,” Anders said quietly. 

“The Mark feels odd now,” Liesel agreed. “I feel more from it in my skin rather than just in my head.”

“How is Solas taking it?” Dorian inquired as Anders helped him set up the metal tripod (the soldiers called it a ‘spider’) over the fire so he could put more wine in a kettle to keep it hot. 

“Different,” Cole answered. “Different than he has in the past.”

“What is it that he’s hiding from us?”

Cole, Liesel and Kieran all looked up at the same moment, peering at Dorian. 

“What he did was necessary—he had to lock the door that the old whispers want open,” Cole said softly.

“He let Felassan go,” Kieran added. 

“Who?” Dorian asked.

“I wonder if Merrill could help,” Anders said quietly, looking at Liesel.

The Inquisitor met his gaze. 

_I mocked her and I was so cruel to Merrill and why did I do that? Would she ever forgive me? Was there a difference between our Maker and her Elgar’nan? Why did I insist there was? What did Justice believe? Blood magic is just a tool—it all depends on how it’s used. But Fenris and I…_

“You miss Fenris too,” Liesel said quietly. “You miss all of them. Want them to meet you again. Now you’re new and clean. Now you’re more _you_ , really you. Not clouded by Justice. You want to show Fenris that not all mages are bad. Not all spirits are wrong.”

Something cracked a little in Anders’ gaze and he looked down. Dorian lightly touched his arm. “It’s all right—it becomes rather cathartic when you realize how much they know. How they know you better than you know yourself.”

“Because I haven’t been myself in a decade,” Anders said faintly, putting his forehead in his palm. “I ruined so much…”

“Hawke can barely look at you without seeing his dead mother,” Cole said quietly.

Anders flinched. 

“I’ll tell Leliana,” Liesel said. “I’ll tell them to start looking for your friends.”

“What about Sebastian? He…he said he would attack Kirkwall if Hawke let me go. And I ran…regardless of how many would die additionally. I ran anyway. I—“

“He didn’t,” Liesel said. “Sebastian was good. Conflicted but good. He couldn’t justify attacking innocents in the aftermath of Kirkwall.”

“Here,” Dorian said quietly, pressing a mug of hot wine into Anders’ hand. “Go on.”

“There was a man,” Cole said. “He was going to hurt you. Dorian found out and stopped him.”

Dorian froze and Anders’ eyes flickered up to Cole. 

“Dorian knows what it’s like to be hated for being himself,” Liesel added. “You can trust him.”

Dorian seemed slightly awkward, avoiding the spirits’ gazes. “It wasn’t such a big thing. Just some lummox who was scared off when I found him outside your tent. I’m a terrible person—I told him you might turn into a werewolf on the full moon.”

Anders smiled a little, relieved and nervous. 

 

Hawke, Varric, Cassandra, Iron Bull and Rainier were all sitting around a large fire. They didn’t talk much until Iron Bull got them to start drinking.

 

And at the edge of the camp, Sera scowled as she approached Solas. 

The other elf looked sidelong at her. “Sera, did you need something?”

The thief scowled. “Look, I don’t normally hold with all the stupid shit you go on about. But I see things sometimes and I know you’re going to start on about how I’m _different_ but the _same_ and other shite like that but if you know something about it—you better not be cocking it up and keeping it from me.”

“I wait only for you to ask, Sera.”

Sera swallowed hard, looking around them, back at the camp and the fires and then back at Solas. “I have the same dream a lot. It’s stupid and full of birds. And running. And trying to find the Void or some stupid piss like that. I want nothin’ to do with the Fade and magic—I shouldn’t dream about it. I never been to the Nothing. Never want to. Why do I keep dreaming about it?”

Solas turned slowly, studying her. “How often do you have this dream?”

“Used to just be every once in awhile, now it’s all the shitting time.”

“After the Breach opened, you began to have it more?”

Sera scowled. “Yes.”

“Perhaps if you were able to control your dreams, we could find out.”

Solas felt bright, sharp fear in her chest. He watched her struggle with it. 

It took her a long moment before she said, “….how would I do that?”

Solas simply nodded. "I can teach you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \----
> 
> I had never considered shipping Cullen and Morrigan together until this story. Strangely, I kind of like it more than I thought I would.
> 
> \---  
> I had a nightmare the other night (the same one that Liesel has) and that was when I realized what Cole suddenly meant by "the real world being _too_ real"
> 
> It's so real that you feel helpless.
> 
> I have this tendency to become aware when I have nightmares but I can never wake myself up, which always sends me into a panic. 
> 
> Its the same for spirits/demons when they come into the Real against their will. it's like a nightmare that they know they're having but they can't wake up from. So they panic.


End file.
